The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)
Page 123
Kit and Miller, duly admonished, immediately silenced their music hall repartee. Mary was, of course, quite right, as ladies often are when it comes to matters of the heart and almost every other subject save, perhaps, cricket. Apologies were given. Apologies were accepted and they were soon driving along Waterloo Road.
‘Isn’t that my guardian angel?’ said Mary, pointing to a lone figure walking along the pavement.
‘Yes, certainly looks like ‘Haymaker’. I wonder where he’s going?’
They soon arrived at the Duke of Wellington. Kit asked Miller to wait for them while he and Mary went into the pub and upstairs to McDonald’s office. They passed a number of men who seemed somewhat surprised to see Mary. She smiled at them. Hats immediately came off heads. Kit glanced wryly at his fiancée who merely shrugged at the stir she was creating.
Wag McDonald rose immediately when he saw Kit and Mary enter his office. Alice Diamond remained seated eyeing Mary.
‘This is a surprise,’ said McDonald.
‘I’m afraid it’s not good news, Mr McDonald,’ said Kit.
‘Another murder?’
Kit felt his heart crash. He didn’t want to consider such a possibility.
‘Natalie, my aunt’s maid has gone missing. We think she may have been abducted.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ replied McDonald.
Kit and Mary looked askance at the leader of the Elephant Boys.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Mary.
McDonald related what ‘Haymaker’ had told him earlier. This was not what Kit and Mary were expecting to hear.
‘Unfortunately, I gave ‘Haymaker’ the day off so I can’t tell you where the car took her.’
‘We saw ‘Haymaker’ walking down Waterloo Road on our way here. Look, we think this may be more of an issue than you think. Tonight’s evening paper will carry an artist’s impression of Natalie. We can’t take chances with this monster.’
‘Wag, it may be something,’ said Alice Diamond.
McDonald glanced at Alice Diamond who nodded to him. In a moment he was on his feet again. It was clear from both the tone of their voices and the faces they were worried.
‘Can you show me where you saw him?’
-
There was no sign along Waterloo Road as Miller drove McDonald, Kit and Mary. Alice Diamond, Wal McDonald, Wag’s brother, and their associates followed in a car behind. It was only the presence of Mary that prevented the two men giving more vocal expression to the frustration they were feeling.
Then Mary had a breakthrough.
‘Could he have taken a bus?’
The two men looked at one another. McDonald’s second thought about Mary was that Kit was a very lucky man.
‘The 381 goes to his flat in Southwark. He’d have caught it back there,’ said McDonald pointing to a stop they passed a minute previously.
Miller was already turning the car left as McDonald gave the address. The car behind followed suit. Soon they were heading along Stamford Street, and a few minutes later arrived outside ‘Haymaker’s’ flat. Kit and Mary stayed in the car and waited for McDonald to get hold of the boxer. The building was as ugly as it was unwelcoming. Kit and Mary glanced at one another, a reminder of their good fortune.
The look on McDonald’s face told its own story as he returned from the building. He climbed into the car and sat down glumly. He didn’t have to say anything and neither Kit nor Mary asked. A few moments later, Alice Diamond and Wal McDonald appeared at the passenger window.
‘I’ll take it the news was not good. Where to now?’ asked Wal McDonald.
‘Do we know any places he is likely to visit. A pub? Family? Friends?’ asked Kit.
‘I’m not sure he has many friends outside of us. If he has a drink, it’s likely to be at the Duke,’ replied Wag McDonald. He looked at his brother then he clapped his hands.
‘The Ring.’
‘Of course,’ said Wal.
‘His boxing club. He still goes to train a few times a week,’ explained Wag McDonald as he saw his fellow passengers look at him quizzically.
Half an hour later and they were no further forward in locating ‘Haymaker’. The mood in the car was despondent.
‘Did you say he has family?’ asked Kit
‘His mum, Dixie, lives somewhere in Camberwell. I don’t know the address,’ said McDonald, sadly.
‘I’m sure Jellicoe could find out.’
McDonald nodded and then looked out of the window. He spotted a café called ‘Mario’s’ further up the street.
‘Harry, can you pull over there? We’ll have a cup of tea and perhaps you can call ‘old Bill’, your lordship.’
When Mario Marino saw the McDonald brothers and Alice Diamond walk through the door of his café, he wasn’t sure whether to run for the hills, open the till or feel honoured by the presence of gangland royalty. Short and rather stocky, Mario was a Sicilian by birth and knew all about Mafiosi. He’d left the island thirty years ago with his bride to start a new life away from such people. He soon comprehended there was no escape. Racketeering existed the world over. It was for this reason he was a little surprised when he saw the last two people to enter the café. They were, by dress and demeanour, distinctly at odds with the more rough-hewn McDonald brothers.
‘Buongiorno, Mario,’ called Wal McDonald with a cheery wave. ‘A few teas and buns over here, please.’
Mario Marino nearly sobbed with relief. He was a man highly disposed to crying. Happiness, sadness or anger. It was all the same to him and usually ended, quite literally, in tears.
‘Prego, Mr McDonald. Teas coming up.’ Mario set to work. As he did so, the associate of the McDonald’s came over towards him. Mario wondered if he was their lawyer.
‘It’s Mario, is it?’
‘Yes, sir. Mario Marino.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Marino. My name is Aston. Do you have a telephone I could use for a few moments?’
Mario lifted the counter and allowed Kit to come through to the back. He called through to Anna to let her know that a man was coming to use the telephone. This was met with a burst of Sicilian dialect that Kit needed no translator to understand. Anna Marino was less than happy at a customer coming into the back of the cafe. Anna Marino’s irritation immediately turned to something more welcoming when she saw Kit walk through. The fact that he was six feet tall, well made, with fair-hair and blue eyes that a moderately-talented romantic novelist might have described as piercing, played no part in this at all, of course.
‘Mrs Marino, may I use your phone?’
Kit called Scotland Yard and spoke briefly to alert Jellicoe and Wellbeloved of the potential lead.
‘We can’t find ‘Haymaker’ anywhere,’ admitted Kit. ‘Do you have an address for a Mrs Dixie Harris? He may have gone to see his mother. She lives in Camberwell; I gather but the McDonald’s can’t remember where exactly.’
Kit listened as Jellicoe spoke. As he did so he called Anna Marino over. This required no second invitation, and she was over like a greyhound after a hare. By gesticulation, Kit asked for the café’s phone number. He handed her a pen, and she wrote it down. A minute later, Kit re-joined the others.
‘He’ll call us as soon as he knows.’
-
‘Has my boy been up to no good, Mr McDonald? If he has, he’ll get the back of my hand,’ said Dixie Harris.
Wag McDonald did not doubt for a moment that the old woman in front of him was well-nigh capable of meting out plenty of trouble for her son should he ever err. It was an insight into why he knew he could trust ‘Haymaker’. The values he associated with him, decency, uprightness and honour had probably been whacked into him by his formidable mother.
‘Daniel has done nothing wrong, Mrs Harris. We need to get hold of him urgently, that’s all. He’s a good boy, believe me, Mrs Harris. The best.’
Dixie Harris’ eyes grew moist. Her Daniel. Her boy. A man among these men. She felt a surge of pride. Then she reco
gnised the look of urgency in Wag McDonald’s eyes.
‘Oh, Mr McDonald, you’ve just missed him. He left ten minutes ago.’
‘Did he say where he might go?’
‘No. He didn’t, Mr McDonald. He said nothing about where he was going.’
Wag McDonald trooped back to the car dejectedly. The convoy set off in the direction of ‘Haymaker’s’ flat and then the Duke of Wellington. It was after six by the time they returned. Kit and Mary joined the others in walking upstairs to McDonald’s office.
‘I’m sorry, your lordship. We tried.’
‘Yes, I know, Mr McDonald,’ responded Kit. His heart felt heavy. Mary looked crestfallen. The worry on her face was all too clear. They entered McDonald’s office.
‘I’ll get some drinks sent up,’ said Alice Diamond. ‘I don’t know about you…’
Everyone nodded absently; no one was really listening. Kit took Mary’s hand and they sat down across the table from Wag McDonald. Sitting on the table was the evening newspaper. It was open at the page featuring the artist’s impression of Natalie.
All at once everyone was staring at the picture. Slowly McDonald picked it up. Then a smile slowly creased his face. He showed the page to Kit and Mary. Written on top of the picture was a message:
I KNOW WHERE SHE IS. I WILL GO THERE NOW – DAN.
Underneath was written the address.
‘Good lord,’ said Mary, ‘That’s where Aunt Agatha’s séance is.’
The door burst open at this point and Alice Diamond raced in with Maggie Hill. Her eyes were excited. Maggie’s eyes were as dead as ever.
‘We missed Dan. He was here twenty minutes ago, ‘said Alice Diamond breathlessly but the others were already on their feet. McDonald waved the paper at Alice Diamond.
‘We know where he’s gone,’ said McDonald, ‘Let’s go.’
37
Neither Betty nor Agatha dared look at one another when Eva Kerr’s name was announced. They could see that no one else was shocked, or perhaps in awe. It took a few moments for the two ladies to recover. Oddly, something on the face of Eva Kerr suggested she was surprised, too.
Silence hung heavy in the room until there was a low rumble outside.
‘Please join hands.’
Eva Kerr’s voice was like a stone thrown into a pool at dawn. Betty flinched slightly. She flinched even more when Agatha deliberately squeezed her hand a bit harder. Betty, of course, retaliated. A tacit armistice was quickly agreed between the two ladies lest things got further out of hand.
‘Clear your minds,’ ordered the medium. ‘Listen only to the sound of your breathing. Only your breathing. Breathe deeply.’
Her voice was liquidly hypnotic. Agatha wondered if this was part of the trick.
‘Close your eyes,’ continued the medium. Everyone did so.
Except Agatha.
She kept her eyes firmly on the medium. Eva Kerr did likewise with her.
‘I call to the spirits of the dead. I call to those who would speak for them. Please. Speak.’
Then out of the silence there was three knocks. Moments later three double knocks were followed. Then three knocks again.
Eva Kerr’s eyes remained glued to Agatha’s, but her eyebrow was raised. It was clear the medium was well versed in Morse code.
A crash of thunder caused several of the people in the room to jump out of their seats again.
‘Let us try again,’ said Eva Kerr. ‘Everyone, close your eyes.’ She watched everyone except Agatha do so. She nodded imperceptibly to Agatha. Then she gave along blink. Agatha nodded then closed her eyes.
Outside the thunder rumbled ominously and the beat of the rain intensified.
‘Listen to the rain. Think of nothing else except that sound.’ The last three words were enunciated with emphasis on the hard consonants.
‘Breathe slowly,’ she whispered. ‘Clear your mind. Breathe. I call to the spirits of the dead. I call to those who would speak for them. Please. Speak.’
For the next minute there was no noise in the room save the hushed breathing of the séance. Agatha was definitely feeling cold but now suspected this was more to do with poorly fitted windows than any evil manifestation in the room.
Eva Kerr’s breathing became heavier and sonorous as if she was being strangled. Agatha wanted to open her eyes but could not. It was as if some mysterious force was compelling them to stay closed.
Then Eva Kerr screamed.
Everyone immediately opened their eyes. Then the two other women screamed. Eva Kerr’s head was twisted at an inhuman angle. Agatha and Betty rose immediately to see what was wrong.
Then all of a sudden Eva Kerr’s body jerked upright. The irises of her eyes had disappeared. It was an ungodly blue-white. Her head began to twist spasmodically from side to side like she was part of a spirit tug of war. Her face was damp with perspiration. Then as suddenly as her movement had started, it stopped.
All was still in the room. Everyone was on their feet. The men were comforting the women. The host was standing open-mouthed, noted Agatha. Looks like you’ve seen nothing like this before, she thought.
Eva Kerr began to moan.
Softly at first and then gradually louder. And louder. Now it was an anguished cry like a wounded animal. It was unearthly. Deep, viscous and pained.
Betty looked at Agatha. She was not a woman given to idle fancies, fainting or fear but this was all a bit much. She wondered if Eva Kerr was foreign. This medium business did not strike her as being particularly British.
Agatha was still unsure if this was really some sort of manifestation or just a very well-rehearsed routine.
Eva Kerr’s body jerked again. Then she stood up, put her legs wide apart and crouched. Her two hands gripped her skirt. For one horrible second Betty Simpson feared the worst.
But the gripping of the skirt and the pose only emphasised what happened next. She howled like a wolf. Amidst the howl Agatha could hear two words. Indistinct but she knew what she’d heard.
‘Help me.’
Eva Kerr collapsed to the ground unconscious just as the next crash of thunder rocked the room.
Agatha looked around her. A few were whimpering in fear, and that was just the men. The two other women were sobbing. Agatha and Betty moved at the same time towards the fallen woman.
‘Fetch her some water, dear,’ said Agatha but noted Betty had already had the foresight to grab a glass of brandy. She noted unkindly it was Agatha’s brandy rather than her own.
Betty knelt down and put it to Eva Kerr’s lips. There was no response.
‘Betty, take her arms, I’ll take her legs.’
‘Where are we taking her?’ asked Betty, somewhat astonished.
There was an imperceptible shake of the head. Betty didn’t need to be told twice and seconds later she had picked up Eva Kerr as if she were a child and thrown her over her shoulder fireman style. Agatha was as astonished as she was impressed.
‘Not quite what I was expecting, but effective nonetheless.’
Betty followed Agatha out of the room. At this point the host recovered his senses.
‘I say, where are you taking her?’
But Agatha and Betty were out of the room with the stricken medium. Agatha shut the door and, noticing there was a key, locked it.
‘Put her down, Betty, dear.’
Betty Simpson laid Eva Kerr gently onto the floor.
‘Miss Kerr, the room is locked,’ said Agatha in a low voice.
A moment later, Eva Kerr’s eyes opened.
-
‘Haymaker’ Harris followed the dozen men and women up the stairs, keeping his head down like Tom Mix had done in ‘The Cyclone’. No one else spoke to him. In fact, there was a rather eerie silence as they ascended the stairs. At the top of the stairs, they all entered bedrooms leaving him standing in the corridor alone. This was a problem. A rather big problem. Unless he did something, he would soon be exposed.
He looked around him.
Of course. Hit someone.
‘Haymaker’ chose a room that he remembered a man entering on his own. He walked to the door and opened it just as the thunder crashed.
The man inside was no longer dressed in a dark suit. He was wearing what looked like a nightdress. A white nightdress. There was a star on the front like the one Wag had mentioned. The man looked up in some confusion at the new arrival. Amid his confusion was no small degree of alarm. ‘Haymaker’s’ features hardly suggested a member of society’s upper echelons.
‘I say, who do you think you are?’
At this point Daniel ‘Haymaker’ Harris demonstrated how he’d earned his soubriquet. The punch which despatched the man was a short left jab which benefitted from its unexpectedness. The man was laid out flat on the bed. At this point, ‘Haymaker’, could have sworn he heard screams. He ran to the door. There was definitely a commotion from somewhere. All the more reason to get a move on. He ran back to the prone man and started to take off his shift.
Much to the boxer’s disgust, the man was unclothed underneath his nightdress. This led to ‘Haymaker’ making a few unchristian comments that were entirely in keeping with the character of the house they were in. He certainly wasn’t about to do what this man was doing. He slipped the white shift over his shirt and he kept a pair of British trousers on. He considered rolling the trousers up but, serendipitously, the man had been so tall, and ‘Haymaker’ so short, that it went all the way down to his feet. This meant he could keep his socks on, which was a great result in anyone’s book.
He could hear a commotion outside in the corridor. Leaping forward he opened the door enough to spy outside. The others were emerging from the bedrooms. All were dressed as he was. Some wore hoods. He reached behind his neck and pulled the hood up. Like a monk.
They started to ascend the second set of stairs. ‘Haymaker’ waited until the last had gone before joining the tail. Again, no one spoke. Outside the thunder boomed thunderously. He went up the next flight which led to double doors at the top. He walked inside and found himself in a dimly lit chapel.