by Roberta Kray
Judith quickly glanced around, but the green was empty. She saw a couple of lads, teenagers, on the high street and thought about yelling for help. But what if they didn’t come? They might just think it was some kind of domestic. And by then she’d have antagonised Hull even more. ‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know.’
At last he let go of her and rose to his feet. Then he leaned over, placing his hands against the back of the bench, either side of her shoulders. ‘If I find out you’ve been lying, I’ll smash that pretty face of yours into a thousand pieces. You understand, love?’
‘I’m not lying,’ Judith said, as calmly as anyone could when a six-foot-something brute was threatening to disfigure them. ‘I swear I’m not.’
He hovered there for a few more seconds of intimidation before standing upright again. ‘I’ll find out, you see. I always do. No one fucks around with Pat Hull and gets away with it.’
There didn’t seem to be much Judith could say to that, and so she kept quiet.
‘You understand?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I understand.’
Hull gave her a long, nasty look before turning away and walking off the way he’d come. She kept her eyes on him as he recrossed the road. Her pulse was racing, her heart hammering out a frantic beat. She rubbed at her wrist, knowing there’d be bruising there soon. Any sensible woman, she thought, would go straight to Cowan Road police station and report him.
She was on the point of doing exactly that when caution kicked in. What if the police began to wonder if there was any truth in Hull’s suspicions? They might go digging into her past, looking for the real reason she’d come to London. At the moment, she was only a witness, a victim even, but that could rapidly change. If they uncovered her connection to Doyle, they might start to view her in a different way.
After further thought, she decided it was too risky. Although she resented letting Hull get away with his filthy threats, the alternative would be much worse. Smarter to keep her head down and hope for the best – the best being that Hull didn’t find out the truth about Elsa being an informant, about Saul Hannah, about Doyle, about everything. Because if he did, he’d be back, and she’d have more to worry about than a few bruises on her wrist.
40
Nell McAllister usually avoided mirrors. What she saw reflected back was a constant reminder of what Lennie Hull had done to her. She’d been pretty once, able to turn any man’s head, but those days were long gone. Now the only reason anyone looked at her was out of curiosity, disgust or pity. Make-up could only go so far to disguise the scars on her face, and nothing could hide the odd, ugly angle of her jaw. But mirrors couldn’t be avoided at the Montevideo; the walls were covered with them, wide and gilt-framed, glittering in the dim light.
She went to the bar and ordered a pink gin. ‘Is Alf around?’
‘Could be,’ the barman replied evasively.
‘Would you tell him Nell’s here?’
‘He expecting you?’
‘He’ll see me,’ she said.
The young man mixed the drink and put it on the counter. As Nell paid, she noticed how his gaze slid away from her. She could say she was used to it by now, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Every embarrassed look, every glance of disgust left another small scar to add to the collection.
While she waited, she sipped the pink gin. The place was almost empty, in part because it was early, only six thirty, but mainly because it was a Monday. The club had always been quiet on Mondays. How long since she had last been here? Four years? Five? She couldn’t remember exactly. The ECT treatment had messed with her head. Some memories were thin and wispy, so distant she could barely grasp them, whilst others were so brightly vivid it could all have happened yesterday.
Nothing much had changed here, though. The same tables, the same blue plush seats. Only the people were different. Once the barman would have leaned over the counter and flirted with her, but now he was glad of an excuse to scuttle along the bar and pick up the phone. Her eyes strayed towards the small stage where she’d once performed. The songs were still in her mind, melodies that haunted her. She never sang out loud now, not even on her own; the music had left her lips for good.
She was halfway through her second gin before Alf emerged from the door at the back. She watched him walk across the floor, a prepared smile fixed on his face. She had liked Alf once, although not as much as he’d liked her. Now she wasn’t so sure what she felt. Grateful, of course, for the help he’d given her after the Lennie business, but wary too. It was never a good thing to be beholden to someone like Alf Tombs.
‘Nell,’ he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’
‘Oh, I was just passing and thought I’d drop in to see the old place.’
Alf went along with the answer even though he knew it was a lie. ‘Well, you’re more than welcome. We don’t see enough of you these days. I’m always telling Ivor that.’ He nodded towards the barman, who immediately delivered two fresh drinks, another gin for her and a whisky for Tombs.
She shouldn’t really be drinking – she wasn’t supposed to with the pills she took – but she needed some Dutch courage. ‘You got a ciggie?’ she asked.
Alf lit one for her and passed it over. ‘Everything all right, Nell?’
‘Sure. Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘No reason. But if there is anything on your mind, I’m here. You know that, don’t you? We’re old friends, you and me. We’ve been around the block together, and the rest. There’s nothing I won’t help you with – if I can. Is everything all right with Ivor?’
Nell shrugged, trying to think of the right way to approach the subject. Trouble was, thinking wasn’t exactly her forte these days; things got all tangled up in her head, like snakes in a basket. In the end, she decided just to come out with it. ‘What do you know about Judith Jonson?’
Alf’s eyebrows shifted up.
‘That’s not an answer,’ she said.
He hesitated, maybe considered spinning her a line – men made a habit of covering for each other – but then decided against it. ‘Not much. She’s from up north by all accounts. I believe she was staying with that girl who got murdered – Elsa Keep. What’s Ivor told you?’
‘As little as he can get away with.’ Nell drained her second gin and started on the third. ‘Someone he used to know, an old friend. That’s what he says. She came to the house to see him, just turned up on the doorstep. I suppose I always knew she would one day.’
Alf inclined his head, curious. ‘Why? What’s so special about Judith Jonson?’
‘Hasn’t he told you?’
‘Ivor keeps things to himself. You know what he’s like.’
‘Yes, I know what he’s like.’ Nell tapped her cigarette against the edge of the fancy glass ashtray. She left a short, dramatic pause – she had not forgotten all her show-business techniques – and then announced calmly, ‘Judith is Ivor’s wife.’
Alf laughed as though she was joking, but his face quickly straightened again. ‘No way. He’s married to her? The redhead?’
‘You’ve met her, then?’
‘No, I’ve heard about her, but we’ve never met. What? His wife? She can’t be. Are you sure?’
Nell reached into her bag, took out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to him. ‘Here, it’s a copy of the marriage certificate. I found it in his things.’
He scanned the page and looked up at her. ‘But this says Dan Jonson, not Ivor Doyle.’
‘That was the name he was using when he left London. He got fake ID papers so Lennie couldn’t track him down.’
‘That didn’t work out so well. But then if you rip off the likes of Lennie Hull, what do you expect?’
‘It was Lennie who was doing the ripping off. He owed Ivor. Ivor only took what was rightly his.’
Alf handed back the certificate. ‘How long have you known about this?’
‘A while. A year or two.’
�
�So why haven’t you talked to him about it?’
‘It was in the past. Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘And now the dog’s woken up. What are you going to do?’
Nell turned back to her drink, seeking answers in her glass. ‘What I want to know is what he’s going to do.’
‘You’re going to have to ask him that.’
Except Nell didn’t want to have that conversation. Ivor had already lied to her about who the girl was, the stranger who’d shown up at Ironmonger Row. An old friend. Well, she was more than that, much more. Judith. She submerged the name in pink gin and frowned. Had he loved the girl he’d married during the war? She supposed he must have, for a while at least. Nell knew that Ivor didn’t love her now, not in the way he once had. Her feelings were different too, but she still needed him. He was her rock, her anchor. Without him, she’d be lost.
‘If it helps, I get the impression he wants her to leave,’ Alf said.
‘But she hasn’t left.’
‘Not yet.’
‘Maybe she wants him back. Do you think that’s it? Is that why she’s come here?’
Alf gave her a wry smile. ‘I never presume to know what goes on in a woman’s mind.’
He leaned against the bar, looking thoughtful. ‘What I don’t get is what her connection is to Elsa Keep. Do you have any idea?’
‘Should I care?’
Alf’s lips pressed together as though he didn’t want to say.
‘Alf?’
He pulled a face. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure. Has Ivor not said anything?’
‘If he had, I wouldn’t be asking.’
But still Alf didn’t enlighten her. ‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘It’s obviously something.’ She touched him lightly on the arm. ‘Come on. Don’t hold out on me.’
‘It’s just a rumour, probably bullshit.’
‘So, tell me the bullshit.’
Alf looked at her, glanced away, looked back. ‘There’s a rumour doing the rounds that Elsa knew something about Lennie’s Hull murder.’
Nell felt a trickle of ice run down her spine. ‘What does “something” mean?’
‘That she knew who killed him. But that can’t be true, can it? I mean, there’s only three of us know what happened – you, me and Ivor. I’ve not said a word, and I’m presuming you haven’t either. So unless Ivor told Judith Jonson … but I can’t see why he’d do that.’
‘You … you think she may have told Elsa Keep?’
Alf made a who knows kind of gesture with his hands.
Nell trusted Ivor with her life – he had saved her, got her out of that hellhole of an asylum – but it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that he’d told his wife things he shouldn’t. And it was perfectly possible too that Judith had passed this information to the Keep woman. But that meant … A series of disjointed thoughts jockeyed for position in her head. ‘It can’t have been why she was murdered, though.’ She stared at Alf. ‘If we’re the only ones who know …’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Alf said, raising his hands again, this time palms out. ‘I only just found out about it. I’d never even heard of Elsa Keep until yesterday.’
‘Ivor wouldn’t have done anything like that,’ she said softly.
‘No,’ Alf agreed, ‘unless …’
That cold feeling was settling into her bones. ‘Unless what?’
‘Maybe he thought it was the only way to protect you. I’m not claiming he did, but everyone has their breaking point. He’s not been himself recently, not since that girl showed up.’
‘I’d know if he’d done anything like that. I would. He couldn’t hide it, could he?’
‘No, of course he couldn’t. Not from you. Anyway, he was with you on Saturday evening, wasn’t he?’
‘Saturday?’ Nell repeated. ‘I … I’m not sure.’
‘It’s only two days ago. You must be able to remember.’
Nell did remember, but she didn’t want to say. She’d presumed Ivor had been with Alf, but that obviously wasn’t the case. When had he come home? It had been late, after midnight. She stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, using more force than was strictly necessary. ‘Yes, yes of course. He was with me.’
Alf smiled indulgently. ‘Good,’ he said, patting her on the shoulder. ‘Nothing to worry about then.’ But his eyes told a different story. His eyes said he didn’t believe her.
Nell was starting to wish she hadn’t come here. She didn’t want to listen to these things, didn’t want to hear them. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and pretend that everything was fine. Why had she come? Because she’d needed someone to talk to and Alf was the only person who could really understand.
‘He’ll stick by you,’ Alf said. ‘I’m sure he will. This thing with the redhead, it’ll pass.’
‘His wife,’ she reminded him.
‘If he’d wanted to be with her, he would be. He chose you, Nell. That tells you all you need to know.’
Nell’s thoughts were jumping around like they were electrified. Every time her mind settled on one thing, it got jolted off to another. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t pin anything down. ‘Would Ivor really have told Judith? And how did she know Elsa Keep? I don’t understand what this Elsa’s got to do with it all. I keep going over that night I followed Lennie …’
‘You don’t want to dwell on that.’
‘Ivor couldn’t have killed that Elsa woman.’
Alf put a finger to his lips. ‘Keep your voice down, Nell, unless you want the whole club to hear.’
‘Where is she? Judith. Where’s she living now?’
Alf shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Yes you do. Of course you do. Why won’t you tell me? I’ve a right to know.’ Her voice was rising again, the pitch growing keener. ‘I suppose he’s with her, isn’t he? That’s where he is now.’
‘You need to calm down.’
‘I am calm. I’m perfectly calm.’ She gave a brittle laugh, took a step back and almost lost her balance.
Alf grabbed her arm to steady her. ‘You should go home.’
‘I haven’t finished my drink.’
‘So finish it,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll get you a cab.’
‘Why won’t you help me?’ Now her tone was plaintive, pleading. ‘Why won’t you?’
‘I’ve always helped you, Nell. Whenever I can.’
And then she felt bad, because it was true. He was the person she’d run to after that awful night, when Lennie’s blood had been all over her, when she hadn’t known what to do, when everything had been falling apart. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pawing clumsily at his arm. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
‘Come on, let’s go.’
She allowed him to manoeuvre her through the club, one hand firmly on her elbow. Outside, the cool evening air cut through the haze in her brain. She had a sudden vivid memory of stumbling through the dimly lit streets of Kellston, of banging on his door, of moving from the darkness into the light of the hallway.
There had been a bath run, clothes destroyed, a doctor called. The man, small and plump, had been one of Alf’s tame doctors, paid to keep his mouth shut. Not that he’d known the truth anyway. She’d heard Alf explaining about how she’d been taken ill at the Fox – one of her ‘episodes’, as he’d described it – and no mention, of course, had been made of Lennie Hull’s dead body sprawled out in the alley. Had the doctor ever put two and two together?
She was still pondering on this when Alf managed to hail a cab. He opened the door, bundled her into the back and thrust a note at the driver while giving her address. Nell opened the window, leaned forward and stared out at him. ‘Just tell me where she is, Alf. Please. That’s all I want to know.’
He hesitated, seemed about to turn away but then stopped. ‘The Gillan place,’ he eventually said. ‘Silverstone Road.’
Nell flinched. Of all the boarding houses Judith could hav
e chosen, why that one? The house was only a hundred yards from the asylum. It was as if the woman was goading her, taunting her, reminding her of the horrors of the past.
‘Stay away from her, Nell. Don’t do anything stupid.’
Nell nodded and sat back. But she knew that some things couldn’t be ignored. They had to be faced square on. She’d had enough of avoiding the truth, of putting her head in the sand. It was time to face the enemy.
41
Alf Tombs waited in the street until the cab disappeared from view. Why had he told her where Judith Jonson was? It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but he didn’t regret it.
If Ivor had been straight with him, open, he’d have kept his mouth shut, but right now he didn’t feel he owed the bloke any loyalty – he reserved that for people he trusted. Ivor had fallen short in this department: too many secrets, too much information withheld. And Doyle’s inability to clear up his own mess and send Judith Jonson packing was dragging him – Alf Tombs – down too. The longer that bitch was swanning around Kellston, asking questions and reminding everyone about Elsa Keep, the longer it would take for the police to move on. And having the law sniffing around was never good for business.
There was something about the triangle of Judith, Elsa and Ivor that made him uneasy. He suspected Judith knew about Lennie Hull’s death and Nell’s part in it all. That wasn’t good for Nell. If the law got wind of it, she’d be facing a murder charge. He suspected she’d crumble under close questioning, break down and confess. From there it was a short walk to the hangman’s noose.
Back in his office, he unlocked the top drawer of his desk and took out the Heathrow plans. He went over the schedule, the route, the timings, but his mind wasn’t really on it. His thoughts kept shifting back five years to that night when Nell had turned up on his doorstep, wild-eyed and gibbering, her clothes covered in blood. He had made an urgent call to Doc Welby, stoked up the fire and poured a glass of brandy down her throat.
‘You don’t understand,’ she’d repeated over and over. ‘Alf, you don’t know, you don’t know what I’ve done.’
