by Jack Murray
‘You’ve must be bleedin’ kidding me,’ he said sorrowfully, before looking back up at the second car receding into the distance.
‘Bloody police!’
Chapter 26
February 18th, 1920: London
It was after one o’clock in the morning when the phone rang in Johnny Mac’s office. Rusk was alone in the office and answered it. The voice at the other end of the line was instantly recognisable.
‘No, it’s Rusk, Mr McDonald. Can you wait? I’ll find him.’
Rusk rushed outside to the factory floor. Not many men were willing to keep Wag McDonald waiting, and Rusk was certainly not keen to join the hardy minority who had tried and lived to regret this folly. An unwearied patience, and the leader of the ‘Elephant Boys’ were not, in any way, synonymous.
He found Johnny Mac standing upstairs on a gantry overlooking the floor. He was gazing down at the ant-efficient activity below him. He put a cigarette to his lips. A different brand from the one they were producing, noted Rusk. He didn’t blame him. He cared little for this brand either. Rusk hurried towards Johnny Mac and told him who was on the phone.
A minute later, an impressively quick Ulsterman was back down in his office picking up the phone saying, ‘Hullo, Wag, it’s Johnny. What can I do for you?’ He tried not to sound out of breath lest the gangland leader think him nervous. In truth he was a little bit of both.
For the next two minutes Wag McDonald explained exactly what he could do for him. Throughout, what was by McDonald’s high standards an exciting and colourful monologue, the Ulsterman said nothing, remained motionless, listening intently, nodding periodically, and widening his eyes in surprise frequently. It was obvious McDonald had quite a story to tell and Rusk, looking on, was desperate to know what it was. Finally, the call finished, and Johnny Mac looked up, grinning eerily at Rusk.
‘You’re not going to believe what’s happened.’
Rusk was all too willing to believe that he would not believe what had happened. This much was clear, even if little else was.
‘So,’ started the Ulsterman, ‘this Phantom, you remember that thief from a few years back, has nicked some diamonds from some ‘nob in town. It turns out he is, in fact, she. It’s the daughter of the guy they banged up. So far so good. Wag’s man in the coppers has told him that she made off tonight with the diamonds underneath the noses of the flat fleet who were waiting outside. You’ll love this next bit, one of the coppers turns out to be her boyfriend.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Rusk in either delight or shock. He didn’t know which either.
‘No, it’s true. And there’s more. It turns out the copper is none other than the blue-eyed boy, Sergeant Ben Ryan.’
Rusk looked mystified for a moment. He half smiled but he was really buying time while he searched his memory for why this was important. Johnny Mac’s smile faded a little as he realised, not for the first time, just what a moron Rusk was. A thin shaft of light finally penetrated the gloomy darkness of Rusk’s mind
‘Bloody hell, Ryan.’
‘Yes,’ said the Ulsterman sourly, still irritated by the slowness of his colleague. ‘Guess where he’s taken her?’ The look on Rusk’s face was more than Johnny Mac could withstand and he decided to answer his own question rather than endure the treacle-slow gloop that passed for Rusk’s thinking capability. ‘He’s only gone and taken her to our boy Ryan’s house.’
Even Rusk, dear Rusk, could see the implications of this. And he asked the question that was in Johnny Mac’s mind and implied within the order the Ulsterman had just received from Wag McDonald.
‘Do you think she has the diamonds on her?’
Johnny Mac looked up at Rusk meaningfully, ‘I think Wag would like us to find out.’.
-
‘I’m sorry it’s not much, Caroline,’ said Sally, looking around at their tiny living room. She certainly wasn’t lying thought Caroline, but she was too grateful, too well brought up and ultimately too nice to say anything untoward.
‘Don’t be silly. I’m just sorry that I’ve disturbed you all.’
Sally gave her a hug and said ‘Nonsense. Will you be all right sleeping on the sofa? I don’t want to wake the kids.’ She motioned with her head towards the bedroom.
‘Of course, I understand. Are they still sleeping?’
‘Yes, would you like to see them?’
Caroline smiled and nodded. The two women crept over to the bedroom door and opened it. They both stood in the doorway looking at the two little figures curled up on the double bed. A little boy and girl, one sleeping silently, the other wheezily.
‘They’re beautiful. How old are they?’ asked Caroline.
‘Little Ben is just turned one and Alice is nearly five.’
They moved away from the door and back into the living room. Sally went to a cupboard and removed some bedding for Caroline to use on the sofa. She stole a glance at Caroline as she was sitting. Ben had a keeper here and no mistake. She was beautiful. Her blonde hair bubbled and boiled without any control, her graceful movement was almost cat-like, and her voice was not just from another class but from another planet. Yes, Ben had done well. But then, he always had.
Unlike Joe, Ben had been academic and performed well at school, so much so that he had won scholarships to attend university, only the War came. Much to everyone’s surprise he chose the police force after the War. Ben being Ben, there was no mistaking his potential. Yes, Ben had done well all right and Sally was happy for him. Young Ben and Alice needed some cousins. Caroline looked up at Sally and saw she was smiling. Sally explained why.
‘We knew Ben was seeing someone but we’d no idea who. He was always a bit careful of saying much, like he was afraid if he did, it would go up in smoke. He really likes you; you know.’
Caroline smiled with relief as much as gratitude. There was a warmth, a sense of family here that she’d missed for so long.
‘He’s been so good to us, Caroline. Little Ben suffers from asthma,’ Sally paused for a moment to compose herself. Her eyes were milk wet. She felt Caroline take her hand. ‘He’s helped so much, with money and the like. Joe works nights in a factory. I sew a little. It’s just about enough but then when little Ben is bad. Well, it costs money for the drugs. A lot of money.’
‘Ben never said anything to me. If I’d known I would have helped. I will help, Sally, I promise you. When all of this is sorted, I promise.’
This was too much for Sally and she fell onto Caroline’s shoulder, sobbing. As Caroline comforted Sally there was a knock at the door. Sally looked up and said, ‘I wonder who that is? Ben didn’t say anything about coming, back did he?’
Caroline shook her head and whispered, ‘No, he said he’d be back tomorrow at lunchtime. You don’t think it’s your husband?’
‘Can’t be. It’s too early. He’s not usually back until around five.’ She looked confused and then worried. She stood up and went over to the window. It was difficult to see who it was, but it was definitely a man. There was another knock. Not too loud, nor too insistent.
Unsure of what to do, Sally walked towards the door and said timidly, ‘Yes? Who is it?’
Silence.
The two women looked at each other. Sally’s eyes betrayed the panic she felt. Without knowing why, Caroline held her breath. There was another gentle knock at the door. Sally looked from Caroline to the door and back again, unsure of what to do.
Another knock. Less insistent followed by a voice.
‘It’s me. Let me in.’
Sally looked at Caroline. She did not recognise the voice. But something in Caroline’s face suggested she did. Caroline turned to Sally and asked, ‘May I?’
‘You sure?’
‘I think so,’ replied Caroline. Taking that as a ‘yes’ she walked to the door and opened the latch. A man was standing there. Caroline gasped in shock.
‘You?’
Chapter 27
This was an unusual morning in the Aston household
. For the first time in a long time Kit rose first. A few minutes later, also for the first time, he went into Harry Miller’s room and opened the curtains. Miller looked up from the bed in speechless-shock. The surreal nature of the morning doubled when he realised that Kit had placed a pot of tea on his bedside table.
‘Sir, what are you doing?’ asked Miller more in embarrassment than surprise.
‘Don’t complain,’ ordered Kit, ‘Or I’ll fire the staff.’
Miller smiled and looked at the tea pot. Turning back to Kit he said, ‘You forgot to bring the milk, sir.’
‘You don’t take it black then?’
‘No, sir. I also like it with a cup.’
‘A cup also?
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘You’re devilishly demanding, aren’t you?’
Kit returned with the milk, a cup and saucer as well as some sugar. He pointed to the sugar and said, ‘Just in case. Now, the doctor said you were to rest up for the next few days, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with an inferior level of service than you’re used to.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘I’m off to my aunt’s now. I’ll pop by later to see how you are. I’ve left you the paper. It makes for grim reading, I’m afraid.’
Miller glanced down at the headlines. It was grim for Jellicoe. The headlines told of another jewel robbery. The fact that it was the Phantom was now out in the open. There was no picture of Caroline Hadleigh yet, but one was promised for later editions of the paper.
‘There’s nothing about the Chief Inspector being taken off the case,’ noted Miller, scanning the copy. He opened the paper and looked at the editorial, ‘But they do seem to be demanding it.’
‘I think they’ll have what they want this morning. Jellicoe’s head on a proverbial plate. I can’t see Commissioner Macready standing up to the press on this.’
‘Is there nothing we can do, sir?’
Kit’s eyebrow arched, and he looked at Miller, ‘There’s nothing you can do, Harry, except recuperate.
Miller eyed the lord closely and said, ‘There’s something on your mind, sir, isn’t there?’
Kit didn’t answer but grimly shook his head. Something was on his mind, but he couldn’t give it form and he certainly could back it up with evidence. Right now, he desperately wanted to give Jellicoe a chance to save his reputation and reveal the truth behind the robberies. But the only solution was fantastical. Kit smiled and looked at his manservant.
‘We’ll see. All right, I’m off. Alfred’s due to collect me now to bring me over to Grosvenor Square.’
-
The knock at the door had a military air about it. Two sharp knocks followed by silence and expectation of an answer directly.
‘That’ll be Betty,’ said Agatha to Mary. Both were sitting in the drawing room. A few moments later they heard the stately footsteps of Fish clip clopping like an elderly shire horse through a Suffolk village.
As forecast by Agatha, Betty made an appearance a minute later, dressed head to foot in brown tweed. She waltzed through the door and threw her tweed shooting cap, with well-practiced accuracy, over a copy of Canova’s Helen of Troy.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t do that, Betty,’ said Agatha, not for the first time. Mary smiled. This scene had played itself out on several occasions during her brief stay. She wondered idly for a moment over how many years Betty had been perfecting her throw.
Although the moment had brought some badly needed levity the air was far from light and frothy. Betty placed her copy of the Telegraph down beside Agatha’s Times.
‘Makes for disagreeable reading doesn’t it?’ said Betty, grimly.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Agatha, equally downcast.
‘We need Kit to put his thinking cap on,’ announced Betty, with a finality that brooked no arguments. ‘He’s slowing down. The old Kit would have solved this days ago, and then off to Sheldon’s for dinner. Once upon a time, you would, too, Agatha.’
Mary raised her eyebrows at this and made a mental note to encourage alternative dining arrangements after they were married. The confidence in Kit shown by the two ladies did bring a smile to her face however, and something approaching hope.
Within a few minutes, there was another knock at the door. This was accompanied by the sound of muttering as Fish made his way back to the front door.
‘Must be Kit,’ suggested Betty.
Moments later the door opened and into the room walked Spunky Stevens. Mary was standing nearest the door and said with surprise, ‘Hello.’ Spunky immediately walked over to Mary and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘I’m sure Kit won’t mind,’ said Spunky by way of explanation.
He immediately went over to Agatha and did likewise, ‘Looking irresistible as ever Lady Frost.’
Agatha gave every impression of being delighted by this comment by looking sternly at Spunky and declaring him a young fathead.
‘That’s the spirit,’ said Spunky before turning his attention to Betty.
‘Aldric, what are you doing here?’ asked Betty, more austerely than she felt.
‘Auntie Betty, is that any way to talk to your favourite nephew.’
Mary turned to Agatha and mouthed, ‘Auntie Betty?’
Agatha looked slightly surprised and said, ‘Didn’t you know?’
-
The café was growing busier. Chief Inspector Jellicoe and Sergeant Ryan looked at some of the new arrivals. Mostly policemen arriving for duty or on their way home from working the night roster. Jellicoe recognised a few of them. One of them passed him and smiled down and said, chirpily, ‘Hello, chief, don’t normally see you here.’
Jellicoe looked up and smiled back at the man, ‘Hello, Johnson, go easy on the cakes for a change.’
‘Will do, sir,’ laughed Johnson, as he moved past.
Jellicoe sensed the eyes of the café on him. Most would know or soon know of his humiliation. This would be compounded when the Commissioner made the call and officially removed him from the case.
Ryan looked at Jellicoe with sadness. The morning papers had been merciless. How quickly they turn, he thought. A hero one week, an idiot the next. The anger must have been apparent in his eyes because Jellicoe looked at him with sympathy.
‘At least the papers didn’t mention you, Ben. I’m glad of that.’ He meant it, too.
Ryan nodded but he felt no better. This would have been the worst day of his life had he not spent four hundred equally bad days in France. His fingers drummed on the side of his teacup. He noticed Jellicoe looking at the cup and then him. If he had been a criminal, he could no more have revealed his guilt than by what he was doing at that very moment. The noise in the café was swirling around him, taunting him with laughter and stabbing him with guilt.
Whether the papers had mentioned him or not no longer mattered. His life had been turned upside down a couple of hours ago when Joe had arrived at his flat. The news was as unbelievable as it was horrifying. If Joe hadn’t been there, he knew he would have broken down completely in a way he had never done when he was over there.
Over there. It seemed a lifetime ago. Was it really only eighteen months since he’d been climbing over the dead bodies in the mud? Then it was survival. His survival. And by then, anyway, he’d reached a point when it no longer seemed to matter.
This was different. It wasn’t just that someone else was involved. It was Caroline. She was gone, and he knew why. And there was the Chief Inspector. The man who had lifted him from the ranks and given him a chance. The man he had betrayed.
The six months working with Jellicoe had been an education professionally but also a rebirth. He returned from France like an unexploded bomb. Anger inhabited him like rats in a warehouse. He detested Bulstrode and Wellbeloved but recognised, also, just how close he had come to being like them. Jellicoe had done more than lift him from the ranks, he had done nothing less than rescue him.
Working with this quiet, diligent, and intelligent m
an, he rediscovered in himself something he thought he’d lost in France. He learned to care again about the victims of violence, of crime and, yes, even those perpetrating the crime. Finding humanity in those he had to deal with restored the humanity he thought had died in the killing fields of Flanders.
Yet now, a traitor he sat in front of the man he’d betrayed. His loyalty to his job, more importantly, to this man had been tested and found lacking. Why? Was it love? A reason perhaps, but an excuse? Love had trumped duty and allegiance. His reward was to be misled by the one he loved. His punishment was to trust her.
‘Is something on your mind, Ben?’ asked Jellicoe. Ryan looked at Jellicoe wishing he could hide from the older man’s eagle gaze. And here it was. A moment of truth. What was he to do now? Confess his duplicity or hope for a miracle that would rescue his girl? His career was over whatever happened.
He made his decision.
Chapter 28
Fish set down a fresh pot of tea on the table while Agatha and Betty sought further clarification on why Spunky was not yet married or, indeed, engaged. This was dealt by Spunky with the well-practiced ease of a man with many aunts. Wisely he forswore any attempt to deal rationally with the ladies on the wisdom of sacrificing the exalted happiness only a single chap of means can know for the daily contrition required of man by his partner in wedded bliss.
Although aunts, in his experience were by tradition, nurture and, who knows, even nature, evolutionary machines designed and devoted to the encouragement of connubial associations between young people of an age, indeed, whether they knew them or not; he felt that auntie Betty and her partner in crime, Kit’s aunt Agatha, were particularly assiduous. This made his shameless disregard even more maddening to them and entertaining for Mary.
In exasperation, Betty turned to Mary and pronounced, ‘You’ll have gathered by now, my dear, that Aldric is a hard man to ignore, but you’ll find the effort pays dividends.’
‘Trifle harsh old girl,’ said Spunky.
