Death of a Bovver Boy

by Bruce, Leo

‘You didn’t tell me about that, either.’

  ‘Wait till you hear it all. It was a trap, I’m sure of that. I didn’t want to get Life for killing Dutch.’

  ‘Naturally not. Suppose you begin at the beginning?’

  ‘Well, that Saturday was just ordinary. I was dancing at this joint, the Cattle Market, when suddenly that drip on the door you’ve just seen, Crumbs they call him, I don’t know why, came up and told me I was wanted on the phone. A woman’s voice, he said.

  ‘I went over, just as I came when you called for me tonight and when I picked up the phone I heard this woman…’

  ‘Which woman?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been puzzling my brains to decide. I know I’ve heard the voice before but I can’t make out who it was.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ remarked Carolus.

  ‘Anyway she said “Is that Gil Bodmin?” I said “Yes. Who are you?” She said “Never mind,” but added that it was something I should be glad to hear. Then she said young Dutch Carver wanted to see me. Now you must understand with our crowd if anyone says he wants to see anyone and names a place and time it means trouble and plenty of it. Then this woman who I don’t know who it was says “He’s waiting down in the cellar of the Spook Club now. The door’s open,” and hung the receiver up. There was only one thing to do. I knew I could handle Dutch and wasn’t worried about any other greasers he might have with him. So I didn’t call the boys but got on my bike and went straight round to the Spook Club.

  ‘I put my bike up on its stand and went round to the back. Sure enough as the woman had said the back door was open and what I took to be the cellar door was open, too. What’s more the light was switched on.

  ‘I went on down expecting to get a crack over the head at any minute but when I got to the bottom of the stairs I saw Dutch, strung up like a chicken and stark bollock naked. His hair had been cut short and the poor little sod was shivering with cold. He’d been gone over pretty bad and a cut in his face was bleeding. When he saw me he was more scared still and tried to turn his head away as though I shouldn’t recognize him.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Hopped it and——ing quick.’

  ‘You didn’t think of releasing him?’

  ‘Yes I thought of it. But I thought too that that was just what I was meant to do. The telephone and all was a trap. The only thing was to get out of there pretty dam’ quick.’

  ‘And leave him in that state?’

  ‘What else could I do? If I’d told the police they’d have thought it was me. Besides, how was I to know he was going to die? He was alive enough when I was there.’

  ‘Not very heroic of you, was it?’ suggested Carolus. ‘But there’s been a lot of non-heroism all through this case. Even if you had told me, instead of leaving me to find out that you’d been there, I should not have thought so badly of you. As it is I shan’t lift a finger to help you. Even if all you’ve told me is true and the Law gets on to your part in the whole thing it’ll be a lagging at least, so think that over.’

  Probably no one had spoken to Gil like that for years and he did not seem to be able to find an answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  More for some way of filling time before he met Grimsby next evening at seven, than with any very lively hope of further discovery, Carolus decided to call on Bert Carver and Mrs Farnham at about the same time as he had been to the house before.

  This time it was Bert who opened the door.

  ‘We’re going out in a few minutes,’ he warned Carolus. ‘But you can come in if it’s anything urgent.’

  ‘I think this whole enquiry’s urgent, but you don’t seem to agree,’ said Carolus.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Of course I want to know who killed the poor little sod, only you can’t expect her to be that interested. After all he wasn’t her kid.’

  ‘No. I see that.’

  ‘And his own mother never had a bit of time for him. Nor for me, for the matter of that. She had too much to do looking in the mirror, she had.’

  ‘I’ve met your older son,’ said Carolus.

  ‘Oh yes. Good steady boy, he is. Hard worker. Not like the other one. Mrs Farnham will be down in a minute. She’s just getting ready. Was there anything particular you wanted to know?’

  ‘Yes. Did Dutch—I seem to have got in the way of calling Kenneth that—did he confide in you at all, Mr Carver?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘I know you didn’t get on very well together, but after all you were his father and he lived in the same house.’

  ‘I see what you’re getting at. I can’t say he did, to speak the honest truth. Not since I took up with Connie. At one time we used to have a word sometimes. Nothing much—only about dog-racing and television and that. But not for a long time now, we haven’t. See where it was, he had his own friends, Des and Phil and those. As I told you before, I never saw much of him.’

  ‘He didn’t, for instance, tell you something he wanted kept secret during the last week or two?’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish I did. But I know he had some secret he didn’t seem able to tell anyone.’

  ‘Perhaps it was where he got his money, though there wasn’t much secret about that. He got it pushing pot for Swindleton.’

  ‘You know that?’

  ‘Where else could it have been? You know what Swindleton is.’

  Mrs Farnham appeared.

  ‘What’s this about Swindleton?’ she asked. ‘I know one thing, he’s not long out of prison and it won’t be long before he’s back again.’

  ‘Who says so?’ asked Bert. ‘You’ve no right to say things like that. You don’t know there’s any truth in it. You could be taken up for putting about such stories.’

  ‘I know all about it…’

  ‘Yes. You always know all about it till one day you find yourself in Court. You haven’t said good evening to Mr Deene, either.’

  Connie Farnham’s ‘good evening’ was dropped snappily and she turned to Bert.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to hurry.’

  Carolus left them and made for the Spook Club. It wasn’t open yet but he found Swindleton in his office. The man appeared to Carolus even more nervous than before. He was smoking a cigarette and a piled ash-tray gave evidence that he had been doing so for some time.

  ‘Yes? Yes?’ he said rising to his feet.

  ‘I have a few more questions for you, Swindleton.’

  ‘Oh God! Shan’t I ever hear the last of this wretched business. What is it about this time?’

  ‘About the Saturday night on which Dutch Carver was killed in your cellar.’

  ‘Who says he was? It may have been anywhere.’

  ‘You said you closed the Club early that night because the woman’s voice on the phone told you to?’

  Swindleton looked at Carolus as though wondering if he should deny it.

  ‘I was tired,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think a man gets tired at my job? I get so tired sometimes I could drop.’

  ‘Were Phil and Des tired when they left the club about an hour before you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never saw them go. Well not actually leave.’

  ‘Where did you go when you left your Club?’

  ‘Home, of course. Where do you think? I went home to get some sleep.’

  ‘And did you sleep well, Swindleton? Knowing all you did?’

  ‘Knowing what? I knew nothing. I slept like a top. Nothing on my cpnscience. You make things up, Mr Deene!’

  ‘You didn’t come back that night?’

  ‘To the Spook Club? Certainly not. I didn’t wake up till the morning.’

  ‘You’ve no idea who might have gone back there?’

  ‘None at all. I only know that when I got there in the morning Dutch had been taken away.’

  ‘I’m going to have a look round that cellar,’ announced Carolus.

  ‘You can, Mr Deene. You
won’t find much. The police have been all over it, every inch of it. But you can look. Certainly you can.’

  Carolus went down to the cellar and from the top of the stairs Swindleton watched him. He saw Carolus peer about him, using his torch, then stoop down and pick something from the floor. This he put between the pages of a pocket diary and prepared to join Swindleton.

  ‘What have you got?’ asked the discothecaire anxiously.

  Carolus replied in one word.

  ‘Evidence,’ he said.

  Swindleton looked apoplectic but ignoring his supplications to inform him, Carolus went out to his car. From behind him on the kerb Carolus heard Swindleton’s protestations of innocence, of ignorance, of the best intentions as he drove away.

  He reached the Wheatsheaf in time for his appointment and found Grimsby waiting for him. The two talked for a long time over their drinks in a quiet corner of the bar. Finally Carolus seemed to be summing it up when he said—‘What it looks like is that it all depends on whether a little girl of twelve keeps her word to a young blackguard or not. And if she does we may never clear up this case.’

  ‘Something like that. Of course, she may have forgotten by now. Little girls of that age have short memories.’

  ‘No,’ said Carolus. ‘I don’t think Liz will have forgotten. Which reminds me—I want to show you something.’

  Carolus took out his pocket diary and from its interior produced a strand of hair, about four inches long.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Grimsby.

  ‘One for the forensic experts. I’m sure you found some hair in Swindleton’s cellar which had escaped being burnt. What I want to know is if this matches up and—if they can say—was it cut off at about the same time.’

  Grimsby smiled.

  ‘So you have to come to us for that sort of thing? It’s all very well, Carolus, but you expect what you call the forensic experts to do all the work, then you weigh in with a spectacular solution which may or may not be the correct one.’

  ‘I know! Shameful, isn’t it? But you have all the facilities and I’m just an amateur. Hullo, what’s the matter with Goad?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was here,’ said Grimsby.

  ‘He had just been called out to the phone and he’s coming over here in a hurry.’

  Goad was in civvies, but though he moved quickly as Carolus had said there seemed to be nothing excited about his haste.

  ‘There’s a pretty violent fight on in the Spook Club,’ he said quite calmly, ‘between skinheads and greasers, I gather. If you think it’s any concern of yours come on down and see it.’

  Carolus and Grimsby drank up and followed Inspector Goad to the door.

  ‘We’ll take my car,’ said Grimsby. ‘I shouldn’t like to see your beautiful paintwork damaged.’

  They did this and Carolus wondered as they drew up whether behind the blinds of the house opposite Roger and June were watching.

  The strangest thing they noticed as they went down to the cellar was the absence of noise. There must have been a dozen youths mawling, kicking, landing powerful blows on one another and yet beyond a few grunts and the sound of scuffling there was almost no sound.

  Carolus saw Gil Bodmin at once. His shirt was torn to rags and his big fists flayed about, not aimlessly but with purposeful effect. He heard an ugly sound as Gil landed a powerful blow on—Phil was it? The longhaired boy went down to the floor and tried to protect his head from the boots that milled around and over him. Gil at once looked for other prey and seeing a youngster among the greasers lifted him bodily and threw him into the most crowded collection of the enemy.

  Two of these had bottles which had been broken off against the wall. They held these by the necks with their rings of jagged glass pointing outward, and with their backs to the wall waited the onslaught of Gil and his friends. It was apparent that the offensive was taken by the skinheads while the greasers who were fewer in number held a defensive though no less aggressive role.

  From among the skinhead ranks Trimmer suddenly broke loose and Carolus saw that he held a knife, a dangerous-looking thing such as those with which the Commandos had been armed during the war. He was about to take it away from Trimmer, who appeared to be insane, when the police came down the cellar steps and went to work on the combatants.

  There were at least fourteen of them and they spread out across the cellar and advanced shoulder to shoulder like the Greeks or Romans in ancient battles. Within three minutes of their entrance order was restored and there was time to examine the damage among the boys who had fought. There was quite a lot of blood about and one boy had received a knife wound in the shoulder, another was moaning and holding his head which had been knocked back violently against the wall.

  A big sergeant demanded—‘What was it all about?’

  ‘Skinheads!’ said Des Grayne and made as if to spit.

  ‘Greasers!’ responded Trimmer, but Gil Bodmin said nothing.

  The Sergeant addressed himself to him, Gil, specifically.

  ‘What were you doing down here? This isn’t your manor.’

  Gil said sulkily—‘We were bored. We came visiting.’

  ‘Oh you did, did you? You’ll come and visit the Station, Bodmin. We’ve had enough trouble with you. Who let you in here?’

  ‘Who do you think? The hero of the greasers, Mister Swindleton.’

  Swindleton who had remained near the top of the steps said—‘That’s not true, Sergeant. I never let them in here. I don’t want them round my place. They always cause trouble.’

  ‘Oh, shut your mouth,’ said Gil. ‘You know you telephoned for us and said the cellar door was open.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ cried Swindleton hysterically. ‘I never did anything of the sort! They came on their own without any sort of warning and rushed down to the cellar. My boys were quite unprepared.’

  ‘Your boys?’ said Des. ‘Who are you calling your boys? Just because some of us used your lousy Club. If you mean those that push pot for you…’

  Swindleton became dignified. ‘Des!’ he said in an injured voice. ‘I’m surprised at you!’

  But no one else was, it seemed, and the police started taking the boys upstairs one after another to the waiting van.

  ‘Don’t start trouble now,’ said the Sergeant, looking at Gil. ‘It won’t do you any good.’

  After a moment Gil seemed to agree and went with the rest though with an ugly expression of defiance on his face.

  Carolus was surprised to see, in a very poor condition and being helped towards the stairs Roger Carver. As he passed Carolus he said sarcastically, ‘Thank you very much. Nice way of keeping a confidence, I must say.’

  ‘There was no confidence,’ Carolus replied.

  ‘Not for you, evidently,’ said Roger with heightened sarcasm. ‘I suppose what I told you was meant to be shouted round to all the skinheads in town, wasn’t it?’

  ‘There was no obligation on me to hush up anything you told me. You seemed pleased enough to talk yourself,’ said Carolus. ‘But if you want to know your name was never mentioned to Gil Bodmin by me.’

  ‘Then what brought the skinheads down here?’ asked Roger. ‘They were looking for me.’

  Carolus said nothing more but did not feel very pleased with himself. It was true that Gil Bodmin must have gathered how Carolus had obtained his information about Gil’s late visit that Saturday night to the Spook Club and it might be that he had acted on it and caused the barney Carolus had just witnessed. On the other hand it could have been as Gil said, that Swindleton had telephoned to the skinheads that their enemy were trapped in the cellar and the door was open.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Grimsby when the police had taken Roger away.

  ‘You’ll hear it all later,’ promised Carolus. ‘He accused me of breaking faith with him.’

  ‘And had you?’

  ‘I suppose I may have done in a way. At least I’m not quite happy about it.’

  ‘What now?
’ asked Grimsby.

  ‘Goad’s over there. Ask him whether he would like to hear what little bits I’ve managed to string together. If so we’ll go up to his place or better still, ask him if he will come over to Newminster.’

  ‘I’ll try. He reads whodunnits so he might like to hear what you’ve got to say.’

  ‘Bad logic, but it might work. I’ve got one last job to do then I’ll be with you.’

  Grimsby nodded and hurried in pursuit of the Inspector. Carolus drove to 47 Docker Street.

  He found Liz indoors—evidently Mrs Bodmin was taking her guardianship seriously. But Liz was alone and when Carolus came in from the street she announced quite gleefully.

  ‘I’m not allowed out.’

  ‘Who said so?’

  ‘Mum did. She says the coalman will take me away in a sack if I go out alone.’

  That surely was stretching it a little far, thought Carolus, but nodded gravely.

  ‘Where is your mum?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s in the lavortree,’ said Liz.

  That produced a silence between them which lasted until Mrs Bodmin appeared.

  ‘Now Liz,’ she said, ‘you be a good girl and go and play with Freda Nustle for a little while. I’ll call for you when I’ve finished talking to this gentleman.’

  ‘Don’t want to,’ said Liz.

  ‘Now run along and don’t be naughty, otherwise you know what it’ll be.’

  ‘Freda Nustle says coalmen don’t put little girls in sacks.’

  ‘You tell her she’s a story then, because your mum says they do, if you don’t behave yourself. Now run along with you!’

  As soon as the child had gone out Mrs Bodmin nodded vigorously to Carolus.

  ‘I’ve got it all out of her. Every word. Only I’ve written it down because I couldn’t bear to talk about it. It’s wicked, that’s what it is and if there’s a God in heaven he’ll know the punishment. I’m sure I can’t think of one bad enough.’

  Out of the drawer in the dresser she brought out some sheets of paper and handed them to Carolus.

  ‘Now you mind what you do with that,’ she said. ‘Because I don’t want my little girl’s name talked about, nor me either for not looking after her, though how I could be expected to when I’m at work all day I don’t know, and her only twelve. It’s a pity her father isn’t alive because he’d have something to say, you can be sure of that. What makes it worse is that Liz is a good little girl and not a bit like that, or anything of the sort. It makes you feel queer to think about it, and to think it was going on all that time and me having no idea about it. I don’t know!