by Roberta Kray
But he’d understood perfectly. He’d seen Nell watching Lennie Hull in the Fox, her eyes fixed on him, her body rigid. Had anyone else noticed? The pub had been busy, crowded, so hopefully not. Hull had had a skinful and was none too steady on his feet as he left. She had gone straight after him, sidling round the customers, but Alf hadn’t thought anything of it.
‘I didn’t mean to, I didn’t. I was just—’
‘Don’t talk. You’ll be safe here. You don’t have to say another word.’
But then she’d started to rock and wail, a high keening noise that made him wince.
Renee had woken up and come out of the bedroom to see what all the fuss was about. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s only Nell McAllister. She had an accident but she’ll be all right. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll deal with it. Go back to bed.’
Renee, after a brief hesitation, had done as she was told.
He’d given Nell a dressing gown, run a bath, told her to get out of her clothes. He’d got rid of the bloodstained evidence as quickly as he could, and then as soon as the doctor arrived he’d made sure he shot her full of sedatives before she could say anything to incriminate herself. Welby hadn’t asked for an explanation – that was what he was paid for – but Alf made out that she was simply in the throes of another of her ‘episodes’. It wasn’t the first time Welby had treated her for hysteria and it wouldn’t be the last. The two of them had put her to bed in the spare room, where she could sleep it off.
Alf scratched his chin and stared down at the Heathrow plans. Then he pushed them to one side and poured himself a Scotch. That missing gun had always bothered him. At the time he’d considered going out to look for it, but decided it was just too risky. The body might have been found already, and even if it hadn’t, he didn’t want to be seen in the vicinity of the corpse.
Nell had gone downhill after Lennie’s murder, eventually ending up in the Silverstone asylum. He didn’t know if she had ever confessed to the doctors or psychiatrists, but if she had, they would probably have taken it with a pinch of salt. In their eyes she was just another crazy girl from the wrong side of the tracks. And they’d have probably frazzled her brain for good with their ECT and their drugs if Ivor hadn’t got her out of there.
It had been a stroke of luck him turning up in Kellston like that. Ivor had needed money to get Nell private treatment, and Alf had needed someone with Ivor’s skills to gain easy access to post offices and warehouses. It had been a good partnership, a profitable one, but you needed trust in this game.
He put his feet up on the desk and drank his Scotch. He was back to the same question he’d started with. Had he done the right thing? He still wasn’t sure. This whole business with Nell and Judith Jonson could blow up in his face.
42
By the time Wednesday came around, Judith had packed her suitcase twice before changing her mind and unpacking again. The encounter with Pat Hull had shaken her and made her think seriously about going home. She had got off lightly, all things considered, but might not be so lucky on the next occasion. However, the idea of running away didn’t sit comfortably with her. No one had been arrested yet for Elsa’s murder, and she was determined to stick it out until the killer was caught.
It was a good feeling, a liberating one, to be on the bus heading for the West End. She’d spent most of the last few days inside, only occasionally venturing out when she could no longer bear the sight of the four walls of her room with their pink blowsy roses. Even then, she hadn’t gone further than the local shops, always looking over her shoulder in case Hull put in another appearance.
Saul had called this morning – there was a phone in Mrs Gillan’s quarters – and asked if she’d like to meet up at one o’clock. She hadn’t hesitated. There was only so much hiding you could do before you began to go crazy, and she figured – so long as she wasn’t followed – that she’d be relatively safe away from Kellston.
She was sitting on the lower deck and had spent the first ten minutes scrutinising the other passengers and watching the road behind in case someone was on her tail. Paranoia was becoming a constant companion. Now, however, she was starting to relax and enjoy the sensation of being out in the world again. She gazed out of the window at the busy streets, the shops and all the people dashing about. London was a hurrying kind of place, with everyone seemingly in a rush to get somewhere else.
It was a quarter to one when she got off the bus in Oxford Street and joined the throng. She walked up towards Charlotte Street, the name inevitably reminding her of her friend back in Westport. Charlotte would be home from her honeymoon and settling into married life. It felt like a long time since she had last seen her. The letters to her friends would have arrived in Westport by now; so much had happened, tumultuous things, and she’d barely begun to explain them all.
The Fitzroy Tavern, on the corner of Charlotte Street and Windmill Street, was easy to find. She must have passed the pub last time she’d been here, when she and Saul Hannah had gone to the Montevideo, but she didn’t recall noticing it. She went through the door to the large L-shaped saloon, where she immediately saw him. The place was busy, doing a brisk lunchtime trade, but he had managed to bag a table near the entrance.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ he said, rising from his seat.
She asked for a lemonade – it was too early for anything stronger, and anyway, with the threat of Hull still looming, she wanted to keep her wits about her – and sat down while he went to the bar. While she waited, she examined her surroundings. The walls were decorated with First and Second World War memorabilia: regimental insignia, helmets, flags and propaganda posters. Above the counter was a clock, its case made from half a beer barrel. It had stopped with its hands at eleven o’clock. At the far end of the room a coin-operated pianola played tunes that mingled with the roar of conversation and the tinging of the cash register.
Saul returned with the drinks – a lemonade for her, a pint for himself – and placed them on the table. She waited until he’d sat down before she asked, ‘Is there any news? Have you heard anything?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. No useful fingerprints – he must have been wearing gloves – and no sign of the murder weapon.’
Judith’s face twisted in disappointment. ‘It’s been four days. Don’t you have any clues?’
‘They’ve pulled in all the local thieves but none of them seem likely candidates. Which just leaves what we’ve already talked about – someone bearing a grudge, maybe someone she informed on, or someone connected to Lennie Hull’s murder.’
This reminded Judith of her altercation with Lennie’s brother. ‘Pat Hull isn’t happy. He pounced on me on Sunday, wanting to know what Elsa was up to. He seems to think I was in on it too, whatever “it” was.’
Saul looked concerned. ‘Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?’
‘Nothing too serious,’ she said, extending her arm to show him her wrist with its mushroom-coloured bruises. ‘I told him I didn’t know anything, that I’d barely known Elsa, but I’m not sure he believed me.’
‘Christ, what a bastard. Did you report him?’
‘I considered it.’ She gave a shrug. ‘But then I thought it was only going to muddy the waters.’
‘Muddy waters are better than a hospital bed.’
‘Well, it didn’t come to that.’
‘Not this time,’ he said ominously.
Judith brushed aside the comment, not wanting to dwell on what Hull might do next. ‘What I don’t understand is where it came from. How did he find out about the link to Lennie’s death? You were only told on Sunday morning.’
‘From Cowan Road,’ he said. ‘Some stations are as leaky as a dripping tap.’
‘You mean a police officer told him? Why would they do that?’
Saul smiled grimly. ‘Everyone has a price, as they say.’
Judith was shocked. Although she’d read the occasional story in the papers about crooked
officers, she’d always thought it was a case of a few bad apples. She was relieved now that she’d kept her mouth shut about her connection to Ivor Doyle. If the police were leaking information to Hull, this particular gem would have made him even more suspicious. ‘What about your contacts? Anything new?’
‘Silent as the night.’
‘Because they don’t know anything, or because they’re not prepared to tell you?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
Judith sipped her lemonade. ‘I saw someone else on Sunday – Ivor Doyle.’
‘I thought you were going to stay away from him.’
‘I was. I am. But he just showed up out of the blue. Actually, he said something odd. He asked whether Elsa had a gun. Why would he do that?’
‘Didn’t you ask him?’
Judith frowned. ‘Of course I did, but he wasn’t what you’d call forthcoming. He just muttered something about people keeping guns to defend themselves. But why should a waitress need a gun? And Elsa didn’t strike me as being scared of anyone.’
‘Perhaps that was her mistake.’ Saul communed with his pint for a while, downing a quarter of it in one long draught. Then he put the glass down on the table. ‘The gun that was used to kill Lennie was never found.’
‘What are you saying, that Elsie may have … No, I can’t believe that. You can’t believe it. Why would she have killed him?’
‘That’s not what I meant. You’d have to have a death wish to hang on to a murder weapon you’d used yourself. But maybe she got hold of it somehow, or was pretending she had.’
‘Calling someone’s bluff? Blackmailing them?’
‘It’s not impossible. She said she had money coming in, but where was it coming from? Perhaps that’s why the place was turned upside down. The killer was looking for the gun.’
‘Money?’ she asked. ‘What money?’
‘A small legacy, apparently. It’s what she told someone.’
‘And it wasn’t true?’
‘We can’t find any evidence of it.’
Judith pondered this for a moment. ‘And we don’t know if they found the gun – or even if there was anything to find. God, why would she do something so stupid? If they’ve already killed once … I mean, that’s not just playing with fire, it’s putting yourself directly in the firing line.’
‘That was Elsa,’ he said. ‘She liked playing dangerous games.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
Saul shrugged, gave a half-smile. ‘You’d have to ask a psychiatrist that. Some people found it hard to adjust after the war. They lived in a state of heightened anxiety for such a long time, and then everything goes back to normal and it all seems … kind of grey, perhaps. Lacking something.’
‘Do you feel like that?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m just glad the damn thing’s over.’ He took another gulp of his pint and added thoughtfully, ‘Maybe it had nothing to do with the war. Maybe that was just Elsa’s personality. You don’t owe her anything, you know.’
‘It’s not to do with that,’ she said. ‘Well, partly perhaps, but … I liked her. I want to find out what happened, and why.’
‘Even if it leads back to Ivor Doyle?’
‘Do you think it will?’
‘He seems to have an unhealthy interest in Elsa’s death. He came to find you, and asked about the gun. I’d say there was something going on, wouldn’t you?’
Judith gave a sigh. ‘I wish I could say no.’
‘It could all get pretty complicated.’
‘It’s already complicated.’
Saul nodded. ‘Perhaps you should move out of Kellston, get somewhere else to stay. I can help you find another boarding house if you like.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Will you?’
‘Of course,’ she lied. She had no intention of leaving Kellston right now. Even with the threat of Pat Hull, she knew she had to stick it out, that this was where the answers lay. And if Doyle didn’t know where she was, how would he find her again? She had no doubt that he hadn’t finished with her yet. And perhaps she hadn’t finished with him either.
‘Let me know what you decide.’
‘I will. And you’ll keep me updated on any progress with the case?’
‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘We should get together soon. How does Saturday sound? About seven? We could meet here again, maybe go on and get a bite to eat.’
Judith hesitated, unsure as to whether he was suggesting more than an exchange of information, and if so how she felt about it. ‘Saturday?’ she asked, playing for time.
‘If you’re not busy. I always work better on a full stomach.’
She smiled vaguely. Perhaps she was overthinking the situation, and as the only alternative on offer was a long, lonely evening at the boarding house, she decided she might as well take him up on the offer. ‘All right, then. Seven o’clock.’
‘Good.’
Judith couldn’t tell from his expression whether he was pleased or indifferent. Although her feelings towards him had softened, she still wasn’t sure if she entirely trusted him – or even liked him, come to that. Still, so long as there weren’t any embarrassing misunderstandings …
Saul gestured towards a man who was sitting at the bar chatting to the landlord. ‘Do you know who that is?’
Judith shook her head. ‘Should I?’
‘That’s Albert Pierrepoint, the hangman.’
She stared over, intrigued. He seemed an ordinary sort of man, in his mid forties, short and plump-cheeked, dressed in a dark blue suit and a brown trilby. Although he wasn’t the only hangman, he was the only one she’d heard of. It was Pierrepoint who dispatched many of those found guilty of murder, and who’d been sent to Nuremburg to execute more than two hundred German war criminals. ‘You wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you?’
‘They say he’s the best, that he takes the time and trouble to make sure it’s quick.’
‘I wonder how he can bear it, to be that close to death so often.’
‘They say his father was a hangman too, and his uncle.’
As Judith continued to study him, she had one of those uneasy feelings, like someone had just walked over her grave. When Elsa’s killer was found, they would be hanged too. And what if Ivor Doyle was the guilty one? The thought of it made her stomach clench. She loathed him, despised him, but she still couldn’t bear the thought of him dangling from the end of a rope. A pulse began to throb in her temples. Her hands were clammy. Like the crow in the graveyard, the presence of Pierrepoint felt like another bad omen.
43
By Thursday afternoon, the weather had changed again, the blue skies turning grey, a thin drizzle smattering the pavements. Judith had a restless feeling, a need to be doing something, but all she had managed so far was a trip to the chemist to buy talc and toothpaste. Now, reluctant to return to the boarding house, she sauntered up the high street searching for distraction.
The shops had little to offer, but she gazed into their windows anyway. She also kept her eyes peeled for Pat Hull. She was safe enough, she reckoned, if she stuck to public spaces and stayed around other people. When she reached the green, she looked over at the bench and scowled, as if the wooden seat held some responsibility for all the bad things that had happened there.
She switched her gaze to Connolly’s, and at that very moment, the door opened and a woman walked out. Judith studied her for a moment: she was skinny and hollow-faced, and was wearing a brown raincoat and a headscarf. Was that Maud? Elsa had mentioned her, the work colleague who was more often than not on the receiving end of her husband’s fists. And Judith thought, although she couldn’t be sure, that she had seen her before at the café.
On impulse, she crossed the road, dodging the traffic, and hurried to catch up with the woman. As she drew alongside, she smiled and said, ‘It’s Maud, isn’t it? I’m Elsa’s friend, Judith.’
Maud gave a tiny jump, startled by the app
roach. Neither confirming nor denying her name, she continued to walk while she stared back at Judith with eyes full of suspicion. ‘What do you want?’
Despite the hostile response, Judith wasn’t deterred. ‘It’s awful what’s happened, isn’t it? Poor Elsa. Who’d do such a thing? I still can’t believe it. And no one’s even been arrested yet.’
Maud shot her a quick, anxious glance, and increased her pace as though she might be able to shake her off.
Judith persisted. ‘They seem to be interested in some money she was supposed to be getting. Did she mention that to you? Did she say anything?’
‘I don’t know nothin’ about no money.’
‘Maybe that was why they broke in, to try and steal it. Or perhaps they were after something else. Do you have any idea of what that might be?’
‘How would I know?’
Judith was having to take long strides to keep up. ‘Because you worked together. You must have chatted. I’m just looking for some clues. The police don’t seem to be getting very far. Did Elsa seem worried about anything, about anyone, to you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘We never had much time for chat. It’s busy in the caff.’
‘Some time, though.’ Judith didn’t understand why the woman was being so defensive. ‘What about Lennie Hull? Did she ever mention him?’
Maud stopped suddenly and turned to face her. Her voice was fierce and her eyes full of fear. ‘I don’t know nothin’, all right? Just leave me alone.’
With that, she hurried off and Judith didn’t attempt to follow her. Had she hit a nerve there? It certainly felt like it. Or maybe it was just the shock of the murder. People reacted to death in different ways. But no, she was pretty sure it was the mention of Lennie’s name that had really spooked Maud.
She stood for a while, not sure what to do next. It was only when she realised she was blocking everyone’s path that she finally set off again. She recrossed the street and skirted round the green, taking the longer but less lonely route to Barley Road. With no clear idea as to why exactly she was going there – and dreading the thought of it – she walked slowly, dragging her feet like a reluctant child. A vague plan was forming in the back of her mind, but it was so wrong, so stupid, she didn’t dare acknowledge it.
