by Roberta Kray
Yes, as soon as he got up, she’d speak to him, tell him the woman had been asking about Elsa. That way he couldn’t catch her out. And with a bit of luck, it would send him straight out of the door again to pass the news on to Pat Hull.
46
For Judith, Friday had been another of those fruitless days. She had caught the bus to Euston to check out the left-luggage lockers, but the key – although it seemed to be about the right size – hadn’t fitted into number 22. It had been a tricky, furtive business, hanging round until there weren’t any porters in sight. With no good explanation as to why she was trying to get into a locker she hadn’t rented out, extra caution had been called for.
When Euston had proved a washout, she’d moved on to King’s Cross and St Pancras, but it had been the same story there. Feeling downhearted – her detecting skills clearly left a lot to be desired – she’d stopped for a late lunch. A sandwich and a pot of tea at the Lyons’ Corner House in Piccadilly had provided sustenance while she perused her A–Z and wondered whether it was worth travelling across town to any of the other stations.
She had tried to put herself in Elsa’s head. Where would she go? Judith had been thinking bus routes, the cheaper option, but maybe Elsa had taken a train, in which case Liverpool Street would be a likely candidate. After lunch, she had caught the Tube, fought her way through the crowds and been disappointed yet again.
After that, she’d decided to call it a day and catch the train back to Kellston. By then, the Friday-evening rush had already begun and the journey was a cramped and uncomfortable one. Now, as she walked up the steps to the forecourt, it was a relief to be smelling what passed for fresh air in London.
Judith took a few deep breaths – petrol and exhaust fumes – on leaving the station and started walking towards the boarding house. She found herself thinking about Nell and what might have been a confession to Lennie Hull’s murder. And if she had killed Lennie, couldn’t she have murdered Elsa too? Or had Ivor Doyle decided to do that job for her? She was so distracted by these possibilities that she didn’t, at first, even notice the middle-aged man who had fallen into step beside her as she turned the corner onto Silverstone Road.
‘Judith Jonson?’
She jumped a little, startled. ‘Who are you?’
‘The name’s Donald Smart. I’m a reporter with the Kellston Gazette. I was hoping we could have a chat about Elsa Keep.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We couldn’t. I’ve got nothing to say.’
‘I realise this must be an upsetting time – you were friends, weren’t you? – only I really think—’
‘Well, if you know it’s an upsetting time, what are you doing here?’
Smart gave an ingratiating smile. ‘My apologies, I don’t mean to intrude, but there’s been a development. It could be nothing, but I thought I’d better check with you first.’
‘What sort of development? What do you mean?’
‘Perhaps we could go somewhere more private and talk.’
Judith stopped walking and stared at him. ‘No, I’m not going anywhere. Just tell me what’s happened.’
Smart was in his fifties, with thin, greying hair and a weaselly face. He had a cunning air about him, something sly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Please, just tell me.’
Even though Silverstone Road was quiet, with only a few people going by, he made a show of looking around and then lowered his voice. ‘Very well. We’ve received information suggesting that you and Elsa Keep may have been involved in prostitution.’
The words hit Judith like a thump to the guts. Ivor bloody Doyle was her first thought. He was at it again, trying to blacken her name and drive her out of London. ‘That’s ridiculous! Do I look like a prostitute?’
‘Well, they come in all shapes and sizes, love, but I’m only repeating what I’ve been told. I’m not saying I believe it, but we need to check these things out.’
‘Well, now you’ve checked it. Someone’s just trying to cause trouble.’
‘And why would they do that?’
‘How would I know? The world’s full of crazy people. I’m not a prostitute and nor was Elsa. Do you have any idea how insulting that is? It’s just ridiculous. Who even told you that? Who told you I was—’ She stopped, realising she was doing exactly what he wanted – getting flustered and saying more than she should.
‘I can’t reveal my sources, I’m afraid.’
‘No, I’m sure you can’t. But you’re happy to repeat their vile slurs. If you print them in that paper of yours, I’ll sue.’
‘Look, we’re both on the same side here. We both want to find the animal who killed Elsa Keep, don’t we? See him punished for what he did? Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot. Why don’t we go and get a cup of tea, start again?’
Judith gave a snort. ‘Did you speak to them face to face, or was it just a phone call?’
Smart made a vague gesture with his hands.
‘I thought as much. What kind of information is that, from someone who hides behind a phone? It’s pathetic. And just out of interest, how did you even know who I was?’
‘I didn’t. A chap in the office gave me a description. He was covering the story when it broke, saw you leave the flat with the cops. I’ve just been waiting for a redhead to walk down the street.’
Judith nodded, hoping he’d had a long wait. It would serve him right. ‘I’ve got nothing more to say. Please leave me alone.’
‘We can work together,’ he persisted. ‘Come on, Judith. For her sake. A good story might jog someone’s memory, move the investigation on a bit. You want that, don’t you?’
In order to make her point, Judith began walking again. All he was doing was digging for dirt; he didn’t give a damn about Elsa or how she’d died. She was starting to wonder if anyone did. The police didn’t seem to be making much progress, and with every day that passed, the chances of finding Elsa’s killer receded.
Smart stuck to her side. He produced a small white business card and held it out. ‘If you change your mind,’ he said.
She took the card in the hope that it would get rid of him. ‘Goodbye, Mr Smart.’
Finally he got the message. Judith hurried on down the road, her shoulders tight with anger. Some of that rage was directed towards Smart, but most at Ivor Doyle. It was only as she neared the boarding house that it occurred to her that Mrs Jolly might have been the culprit this time, passing on her gossip to the local paper. But Doyle was still to blame; he was the one who’d started it, who’d planted the seed in the first place.
She was so distracted, she didn’t notice the dark car parked up a few yards from Mrs Gillan’s. Her eyes were focused somewhere in the middle distance, her thoughts a long way from her surroundings. She’d walked straight past it when she heard her name being called.
‘Hey, Judith!’
Turning her head, she saw Pat Hull getting out of the car with a fat grin on his face. Her anger was instantly replaced by fear. Adrenalin pumped through her body. Should she make a dash for it? The boarding house wasn’t far away, and if she … Those few seconds of indecision cost her dear. By the time she’d decided to run, Hull was already in front of her, blocking her path and grabbing hold of her arm.
‘Not thinking of leaving us, are you, darlin’? Only that ain’t too polite. I might start thinking you ain’t pleased to see me.’
‘Get off! Let go of me!’ Judith struggled to free herself, but to no avail. His hard, thick fingers were squeezed around her forearm as tight as a vice. She glanced frantically up and down the road – empty – and then towards the boarding house, hoping someone might spot what was going on, but the window was unoccupied.
‘Don’t even think about screaming,’ he said. ‘I’ll punch you so bloody hard you won’t remember your own name.’
And Judith thought he would too. It wasn’t an idle threat. She could see it in his eyes, the lust to hurt. Any excuse would do. ‘What do you want? I’ve told you everything I kno
w.’
‘Then maybe you need your memory jogging. You and me are going to go for a little drive so you can think about it.’
The car had its engine running. There was a thickset man behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette and watching the proceedings as though they were some kind of entertainment. Now she was wishing she hadn’t been so short with Donald Smart. If she’d just kept chatting to him until they’d reached the safety of the boarding house … ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Hull pushed his face into hers, breathing out a mixture of tobacco and alcohol fumes. ‘Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, love. Just get in the car before I break your fuckin’ arm.’
He propelled her towards the vehicle, holding her with one hand while he opened the back door with the other. ‘Get in!’
But Judith knew that if she did that, there was every chance she’d be spending the next two weeks in hospital. And that was if she was lucky. If she wasn’t, Mr Smart could be filling the pages of the Gazette with yet another murder story. No, she’d rather take the chance of a broken arm than of ending up in a ditch somewhere. With all this running through her mind, she kicked out hard with her heel, trying to catch him on the shin.
Hull moved his leg out of the way, giving a derisive laugh. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, darlin’.’ He slammed her hard against the car and she felt the breath rush out of her lungs. ‘Don’t fuckin’ mess with me, you hear?’
He had hold of her neck and was pushing her head down, trying to force her into the back seat. There was nothing she could do. He was too strong, too powerful. Then, just when she thought everything was hopeless, a voice came from behind her. She’d have known that voice anywhere. ‘Let her go, Hull, or I’ll blow your bloody brains out.’
Instantly, she felt Hull release his grip. Ivor Doyle was standing feet away and he was holding a gun. She lurched away from the car, rubbing at her arm as the two men squared up to each other.
‘Stay out of this, Doyle. It’s none of your business.’
‘It’s my business if I say it is.’
‘That bitch knows something about Lennie.’
‘Judith,’ Doyle said, keeping his eyes on Hull, ‘you know anything about Lennie?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘There, you’ve got your answer. I’d jump in that car if I was you, while you’ve still got the chance. I get twitchy when I get impatient. Be a shame to make a mess of this nice clean pavement.’
Hull glared at him. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this.’
‘Stay away from her,’ Doyle said. ‘You understand?’
Hull gave a sneer, got into the car and slammed the door. The motor roared off leaving a trail of exhaust fumes in its wake.
Doyle slid the gun into his pocket. ‘You all right?’
She nodded, still in shock, still shaking. She supposed she should thank him for saving her skin, but instead she asked, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just waiting in line. You’re kind of popular today. So, what’s Hull’s beef with you?’
‘You heard him. He thinks I know something about his brother’s murder.’
‘And do you?’
‘Do you?’ she batted back.
‘No.’
Judith didn’t believe him. She had every reason not to. ‘Do you always carry a gun around?’
Doyle patted his pocket. ‘Only when I think I’m going to need it. Who was the other guy, the grey-haired bloke?’
‘A reporter from the Gazette.’ Recalling what the man had said to her, she scowled. ‘Was that anything to do with you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Were you the one who called him?’
‘Why would I do that?’
Judith knew he wouldn’t confess even if it had been down to him. She wrapped her arms around her chest and took a step back. Her legs suddenly felt wobbly, like they were about to give way. Her head was starting to swim. She sat down on the low front garden wall of the nearest house, leaned forward and closed her eyes.
Doyle sat down beside her. ‘Just breathe,’ he said. ‘It’s the shock. Hull has that effect on people.’
Judith breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. Gradually, the dizziness cleared and she was able to sit up straight again. ‘You never told me what you’re doing here. I mean, what you want.’
‘I thought we should talk.’
‘What about?’ she asked.
‘Nell was here, wasn’t she? She came to see you.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘You’re not a good liar, Judith. You never were.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
Doyle looked at her, shook his head and glanced up at the sky. ‘It’s going to rain. Let’s find somewhere we can talk.’
‘Not the boarding house,’ she said. ‘It’s not private there.’
‘There’s a caff near the station. It shouldn’t be too busy. Can you stand up?’
He rose to his feet and held out his hand, which she ignored. Slowly she pulled herself upright. What had just happened didn’t feel real, more like a scary gangster film she’d been watching at the cinema. These things didn’t happen in real life. Except they did, and they had. In the films, the good guy always won, but what if there weren’t any good guys? What if everyone was bad? A feeling of hopelessness, of helplessness, was seeping down her spine.
47
The café was small and quiet, with only a few customers. Doyle ordered a couple of teas at the counter, and then chose a table at the back away from everyone else, where they both sat down. The rain, which had only been a drizzle on the walk to Station Road, began to come down harder, lashing against the windows and obscuring their view of the outside world.
Judith placed her elbows on the red checked cloth and looked at Doyle. ‘I suppose you’re going to say I told you so.’
‘Why make a bad day worse?’
‘I don’t even understand why Hull thinks I know any more than the last time he asked me.’
‘Something’s rattled his cage. Maybe it’s the people you’ve been talking to.’
She wondered if he meant Nell, but Hull couldn’t have been aware of that unless he’d been watching the boarding house. ‘Like who?’
‘You’d know better than me.’
‘There was that woman who worked with Elsa at Connolly’s. Maud?’
Doyle gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Maud Bishop?’
‘I don’t know her surname. She didn’t want to talk about Elsa, though. Couldn’t get rid of me quickly enough.’
‘There’s your answer,’ he said. ‘The bloke who was driving Hull around today, that was Mick Bishop. He’s Maud’s husband. She must have told him that you’re still asking questions.’
Judith rolled her eyes. ‘God, I wish I’d known that. I wouldn’t have gone near her.’
‘She’s probably had a pile of grief from Mick already. If Elsa did know something about Lennie’s murder, Hull may have wondered if Maud did too.’
‘Wouldn’t she have told Mick if she did?’
‘Depends where her loyalties lay. She may have preferred to keep her head down and stay out of it.’
‘She was certainly jumpy, scared even.’
A girl came with the teas and put them down on the table. They waited until she’d gone before resuming the conversation.
‘Were they close, Maud and Elsa?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Judith said.
‘Elsa might have spoken to her about what she knew, or thought she knew.’
‘She might.’
Doyle piled several sugars into his cup and gave the tea a stir. Judith’s gaze flicked from his hand to his face. Had he killed Elsa? She had no way of telling. Back in the days when she’d known him inside out – or thought she had – she’d have been certain as to whether he was lying or not. But now she couldn’t be sure one way or the other. He had just saved her from a beating, but that didn’t mean she
could trust him.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘It’s all such a mess, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s a mess all right.’ He drank some tea, looked at her over the rim of the cup. ‘We need to talk about Nell.’
‘Do we?’
‘Look, I know you’ve seen her and I’m pretty sure I can guess what she said. But what you have to remember is that she isn’t well. She gets ideas in her head, delusions, fantasies, whatever you want to call them, and thinks they’re true. They seem real to her, you see, like they’ve actually happened.’
Judith watched him closely while she asked, ‘Like shooting Lennie Hull, for instance?’
Doyle didn’t flinch or show any sign of surprise. ‘She wanted him dead, course she did after what he did to her, but she isn’t capable of murder.’
Judith supposed it was admirable that he was trying to protect the woman he loved – an unwanted flicker of envy rose in her breast – but that didn’t mean she had to believe him. ‘Anyone can be pushed over the edge.’
‘Not Nell.’ He took out a cigarette, played with it for a while, finally put it in his mouth and lit it. ‘Are you going to tell the law?’
Judith was tempted to keep him on tenterhooks, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. The desire for vengeance still raged inside her, but she wanted him to pay for what he’d done, not Nell McAllister. ‘Tell them what?’
He looked at her for what seemed a long time, and then slowly smiled. ‘So you believe me?’
‘I didn’t say that. To be honest, I don’t care who killed Lennie Hull. Maybe Nell did, maybe she didn’t. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m only concerned with who killed Elsa.’
‘And you think it could have been me?’
She met his gaze, unflinching. ‘I can’t dismiss the possibility.’
Doyle smiled again. ‘Doesn’t that kind of put you in the firing line? I mean, if I killed Elsa to stop her talking about Nell, then why wouldn’t I kill you too? In fact, why didn’t I let Hull do the job for me just now?’
