by Roberta Kray
‘Is that it?’ she asked. ‘Is that what Nell used to kill Lennie Hull?’
Doyle didn’t answer. He slid open the gun, removed the clip, peered at it and frowned. ‘Is this how you found it?’
‘Yes. Why? What’s wrong?’
‘It’s fully loaded. All seven bullets.’
Judith looked at him. ‘What are you saying, that it’s not the right gun?’
‘No, it’s the right one. A Beretta 1934,’ he said. ‘It used to be mine. I had to leave it behind when I went up north.’ Although he’d finally come clean about Nell’s guilt, he looked completely baffled. ‘It couldn’t have been reloaded. Why would it have been?’
‘It wouldn’t. Not if Elsa was using it as blackmail. She’d want it to be exactly as it was.’
‘Exactly. Except Elsa wasn’t blackmailing Nell. Or me. So unless …’
Judith waited, but he didn’t go on. Instead he quickly reinserted the clip into the Beretta, cleaned the gun thoroughly, wrapped it in the cloth again and put it back in his pocket. By the time he’d completed this procedure, her train of thought had finally caught up with his.
‘Nell didn’t kill Lennie Hull, and Elsa knew who the real killer was.’
‘And she must have approached them. Big mistake.’
Judith couldn’t argue with that, but something still puzzled her. ‘So why does Nell say she did it?’
‘Because she genuinely believes she did. She was there and she wanted to scare Hull. She was waving the gun around and it went off by mistake. At least that’s what she’s always thought. When someone else shot him, she must have gone into shock. She chucked the Beretta and ran. And ever since then, she’s been convinced that—’
‘But she would have seen if someone else was there.’
But Doyle, even if he knew the answer, wasn’t sharing it with her. He put the car into gear and drove back towards the club.
54
Judith wasn’t sure how long they’d been away, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. When she sat down beside Saul, he gave her a quizzical look.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, sorry, I was feeling a bit … I just stepped outside for some air.’
Doyle was already seated at the centre table. Had anyone noticed they’d both been missing at the same time? She didn’t know and didn’t really care. There were too many other things on her mind. Once she’d handed over the gun, she’d thought that would be the end of it – Nell wouldn’t need to worry about a murder charge – but it seemed she’d just opened another can of worms. Still, that was none of her business. She had done what she felt to be right, and whatever happened next was beyond her control.
She drank some wine and looked towards the dance floor, hoping to catch Annie’s eye. Now that she’d got rid of the Beretta, she just wanted to go home. Well, not home exactly, but back to the boarding house. She was done with the night, done with socialising, with Doyle, Saul and just about everything. A line had been drawn and it was time to leave.
Getting Annie’s attention, however, proved easier said than done. She and Pete were smooching to a slow tune being played by the band. Judith tried for a while, with no success, then sat back and sighed.
‘So,’ Saul said, ‘what did Doyle want?’
‘Doyle?’
‘He followed you out. I’m presuming he had something to say.’
Judith could have denied it, almost did, but decided it was just as easy to tell a partial truth. ‘Oh, nothing much. He thought I’d come here to cause trouble. I soon put him straight.’
Saul nodded. ‘Right. It’s not down to you, then?’
‘What isn’t?’
He inclined his head in the general direction of the centre table. ‘Our friends appear to be in a less than convivial mood. Not much party spirit, unless I’m mistaken.’
Judith looked over. He was right. It was clear that some kind of argument was in progress between Doyle and Tombs. Words were being exchanged, voices raised. Doyle’s face was tight and furious. As she watched, the row quickly escalated, the two men getting to their feet. The woman in black made a vain attempt to calm Tombs down, taking hold of his arm, but he brushed her aside.
Judith couldn’t have said who threw the first punch, but there was a flurry of blows as Doyle and Tombs went head to head. Suddenly the music stopped and the dance floor cleared. People moved out of the way, not wanting to be part of the collateral damage. As the scrap continued, tables were overturned, sending bottles and glasses smashing to the floor.
‘Now that’s what I call a waste of good champagne,’ Saul said.
Judith stared at him. ‘Shouldn’t you do something?’
‘What would you suggest?’
As Judith stood up, she noticed Nell standing to one side, her face oddly blank. Her hands were clasped in front of her, a demure pose more suited to church than a club in Soho. If she was taking in what was happening, she was showing no sign of it. Judith quickly switched her attention back to the fight.
The two men were hearing nothing, seeing nothing but each other. They were locked in combat, beyond words, beyond anything but the furious moment. Punches turned into a kind of grappling, and eventually they both ended up rolling on the ground. First Tombs was on top, and then Doyle. It was impossible to tell who was getting the better of it.
Doyle was the younger man, stronger, but Tombs had experience and guile. By now, both their faces were bloodied, their energy starting to wane. And then, just when Judith thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. The Beretta dropped out of Doyle’s pocket and landed on the carpet. Both men saw and reached for it simultaneously, a mad grasping, a stretching out of hands. A shot rang out. A woman screamed. And then there was an odd, eerie silence.
Only at this point did Saul finally leap out of his chair.
The next few seconds felt like an eternity. As Saul rushed across the room, Judith found herself praying. Please God, don’t let him be dead. Don’t let him be dead. This was all her fault. She was to blame. If she hadn’t handed over the gun …
She followed Saul, barely breathing as he helped to pull the two men apart. There was blood on both of them, too much blood. But it was Tombs and Tombs alone who eventually staggered to his feet. Doyle lay supine, his body limp, his head twisted to one side.
55
Judith felt pain rip through her. She had gone full circle, she thought, from believing her husband to have been killed in the war, to finding out he was still alive, to now seeing him shot right in front of her. She swayed on her feet as noise and activity erupted through the silence. Suddenly everyone, everyone but Ivor Doyle, was moving.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Saul shouted at the barman. ‘Call a bloody ambulance.’
Annie appeared by Judith’s side, grabbing hold of her arm. ‘Come away,’ she said, trying to shield her from the horror.
But Judith resisted, continuing to stare down, watching as Saul did his best to staunch the blood. So there was a chance? A glimmer of hope flickered inside her. Ivor was still breathing. She could see it now, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The past flashed through her mind, everything from the day they’d first met to the events of recent weeks. There had been a time when she’d wanted revenge, yearned for it, but now all she wanted was for him to live.
By the time the ambulance arrived, the club was almost empty. Most of the customers had made themselves scarce, probably because they preferred to avoid any contact with the law and had no desire to give evidence against a gangland boss. As Ivor was stretchered out of the room, Judith glanced around for Nell, but there was no sign of her. Alf Tombs was leaning against the bar, bloodied and dishevelled, drinking what looked like a brandy.
Saul came over to her and said quickly, ‘You should get out of here. The police are on their way. Go out the back.’ He pointed towards a door at the rear of the room. ‘I’ll let you know how things go.’
‘Won’t they want to talk to us?’
‘
Yes,’ he said, ‘but you don’t want to talk to them. They might have some awkward questions, don’t you think?’
It was then that she realised he either knew or had guessed about the origin of the gun. She hesitated, but Annie yanked at her arm.
‘Come on, let’s go.’
This time Judith allowed herself to be dragged away. It would mean trouble for Annie too if the truth came out about the Beretta. It was probably an offence to flee the scene of a crime, but it was an even bigger one to have contributed to it.
As they ran through the back corridor, all Judith could think about was whether Ivor Doyle would survive. At this very moment he was on his way to hospital, maybe bleeding to death. How had it come to this? She still had no idea what the two men had been fighting about, but figured it had to be something to do with the gun.
Eventually they came to a door that led them out to the side of the building. They fled up a narrow path back onto Charlotte Street and joined the throng. By now, news had travelled about the shooting and a curious crowd had gathered outside the club. They squeezed past just as a couple of squad cars were pulling up at the front door.
Annie released an audible sigh of relief.
‘Where’s Pete?’ Judith asked, suddenly noticing his absence.
‘Oh, he cleared off a while ago. He wanted me to go with him, but … I don’t think he’s too keen on the police. That Saul seems all right, though. You don’t think he’ll say anything about us being there, do you?’
Judith shook her head. ‘No, he won’t say anything.’ She suspected Saul’s motives in telling them to go hadn’t been entirely altruistic. With her as a common factor, he wouldn’t want his colleagues making any awkward connections between the murder of Elsa Keep and the shooting of Ivor Doyle. He had as much to lose as she did if the truth came out.
They were halfway along Goodge Street before Judith saw a black cab and hailed it. She gave the Silverstone Road address and got in the back with Annie. She wished she could go to the hospital, but that was Nell’s place, not hers. It was awful not knowing, a stone of dread that lay in the pit of her stomach.
They were quiet for most of the journey, neither of them wanting to discuss the events of the night within hearing of the driver. As they travelled through the streets of London, Annie reached out her hand and took Judith’s.
‘Try not to worry,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right.’
Judith wasn’t so sure. It had been a long time since anything was right.
56
Nell had a curious feeling of lightness as she walked beside the river. The burden of the past five years had been lifted from her shoulders. She was free of guilt, of regret, of everything that had dragged her down. For the first time since that fateful night, old tunes sprang to her lips and she sang softly as she gazed across the inky water. People called it Father Thames, sometimes Mother; she preferred the latter – it seemed more welcoming somehow, more loving.
In the dark, she didn’t need to worry about the looks from passers-by. Her face was no different to theirs in the shadows. Voices floated in the night air, snatches of conversations, a few random words sprinkled here and there. They drifted through her, round her, a gentle lapping like the sound of the water against stone.
How odd, she thought, that Ivor’s wife had been the one to find the gun and hand it over. The girl with the red hair. When Ivor had returned to the table, he’d had that look on his face: hard and soft at the same time. He hadn’t been happy since he’d come back to London. A part of him had been broken. She would often catch him staring into the middle distance with something or someone on his mind. But that hadn’t been what she was thinking about. Yes, when Ivor had come back to the table …
‘I’ve got the gun,’ he’d said quietly. ‘Judith found it. You didn’t fire the damn thing. You didn’t shoot Lennie Hull.’
She hadn’t seen how that was possible. She’d been there with the black gun in her hand. She’d heard the explosion of sound, seen part of Lennie’s head blown into the street, on to her clothes, across her face. She had tasted his blood in her mouth.
‘It was someone else,’ Ivor had said. ‘There was someone else there too.’
But Alf, who was sitting beside him, had shaken his head. ‘You’re wrong. You must be. Perhaps it’s not the right shooter.’
‘You think I don’t know my own gun when I see it?’ Ivor staring at him like he was turning something over in his mind. ‘I’m telling you, Nell’s innocent.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Why were you so interested in Elsa Keep?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Elsa Keep. What was it about her murder that bothered you so much?’
‘You know what. There were rumours about Hull. I was just looking out for Nell.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
Alf curling his lip. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean? You should be grateful. I put myself on the line for that girl. If it wasn’t for me—’
‘The only person you ever look out for is yourself.’
‘I was here for her when no one else was.’
‘If that’s what you like to call it.’
Both of them talking like she wasn’t there, like she was invisible. The other guests exchanging nervous glances. But she trusted Ivor, knew he wouldn’t lie to her. If he said she hadn’t fired the gun, she hadn’t. She didn’t really understand what he was getting at with Alf, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now.
She had left when the fight started. That was what men did to settle things – tried to hurt each other. As if there hadn’t been enough hurt already. She had wanted to be alone, to breathe in the night air, to sing and celebrate her redemption. God wouldn’t turn her away now. She was saved. The angels would open up the gates and she would step inside. The only thing left to do was to clean her body and cleanse her soul … She looked down at Mother Thames and smiled.
57
Judith was picking at her breakfast, grateful that Annie was present to make small talk with the other residents. They had waited up until the early hours, but Saul hadn’t come. Whether that was a good sign or a bad one was impossible to judge. She had slept badly, waking too often to stare into the darkness. If she had given the gun to Saul instead, or even thrown it away, everything would have worked out differently. What ifs revolved in her head, different decisions, different outcomes. She knew it was pointless – what was done was done – but guilt continued to haunt her.
Breakfast was almost over by the time Judith saw the car draw up by the kerb. Quickly she rose to her feet, excused herself and hurried outside. She was on the street, waiting, even before Saul had climbed out of the driver’s seat. She tried to read his face as he walked towards her. He looked tired, crumpled, as though he’d had even less sleep than she had.
‘Is it bad news?’
‘Doyle’s out of danger,’ he said. ‘He got lucky. He’ll be back on his feet in a few weeks.’
Judith almost wept. ‘Thank God!’
‘Yes, another inch to the left and he’d have been pushing up daisies. You must be relieved.’
She nodded, unsure as to whether he was referring to Ivor Doyle still being alive or her part in providing the weapon that had almost killed him. Maybe both. ‘Can we walk?’ she asked, wanting to escape the curious eyes in the dining room.
‘Of course.’
It was a bright day, the sun already beginning to warm the air, the sky blue and cloudless. Judith waited until they were a few yards down the road before she asked, ‘What’s happening with Tombs?’
‘He’s been charged. Naturally, he’s claiming it was an accident and that the gun wasn’t his. He won’t come clean about what the fight was over either. “Something and nothing”, he says, but no one believes that. We haven’t been able to talk to Doyle yet.’
‘It all goes back to Lennie Hull, doesn’t it?’
‘You tell me,’ he said.
But Judith had no
intention of telling him anything. She had made enough mistakes already without adding to them. Saul, even if he had proved trustworthy, was still on the side of the law. ‘What about Nell? What does she have to say about it all?’
Saul left a long pause before answering. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news on that front.’
Judith stopped walking, looked at him and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There was an accident, or … No one’s entirely sure. Unfortunately, she was pulled from the river late last night.’
For a few seconds Judith was speechless, rocked by the information. ‘You’re saying she’s … what? I don’t understand. You’re saying she’s dead?’
Saul nodded.
‘My God, does he know? Does Ivor know?’
‘Not yet.’
Judith felt overwhelmed. ‘It must have been an accident. I mean, why would she …’ She couldn’t figure out why someone who’d just been told – and she presumed Ivor had told her – that she hadn’t committed the crime she thought she had would deliberately throw herself into the Thames. ‘No, it can’t have been on purpose.’
‘Did you see her leave the club last night?’
‘I didn’t notice. She was there when the fight started, and then … I’m pretty sure she was gone before Ivor was shot.’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought too.’
Judith began walking again. It was a way of avoiding Saul’s eyes, of not having to look at him while she tried to absorb the reality of Nell’s death. ‘She knew about me, but she also knew I wasn’t a threat. I didn’t want Ivor back; I didn’t want anything to do with him.’ Her voice, sounding overly defensive, went up in pitch. ‘But what if it was my fault? What if she saw me there last night and—’
Saul cut her off before she could continue. ‘You can’t think like that. The girl wasn’t well, hadn’t been for a long time. If you want someone to blame, look no further than Lennie Hull. If anyone pushed her to the edge, it was him.’
