Assassins

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘I hope so,’ he replied.

  She hesitated, then said awkwardly, ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone. Despite the salacious rumours the papers print about me.’

  ‘The papers print nothing about me,’ said Stark, ‘but it has been a very long time for me, too. I may disappoint you.’

  She looked at him. ‘Do you know how rare that is in a man?’ she said. ‘To even think of pleasing the woman.’

  He rose and took her hand, and she stood up and lifted her other hand to stroke his face.

  ‘You have beautiful eyes,’ she said.

  ‘And you are the most stunning and exhilarating woman I have met in far too long a time.’

  She kissed his fingers gently, caressingly, then led him out of the room and towards the stairs.

  Their first time was awkward, two people discovering each other’s body, but then they became unified as they moved to the same rhythm, slow to begin with, then gaining urgency, quickening, until they both came with loud cries before he collapsed on her.

  The second time was slower as they luxuriated in one another, kissing, stroking, caressing, her scent on him, on his fingers, on his tongue, her lips moving over his body in butterfly kisses before he entered her again and they poured into one another.

  Afterwards, as they lay there, arms around one another in the tangled sheets, she asked, ‘Will you stay?’

  ‘No. I want to, but I want to be there for my son when he gets up in the morning.’

  She hugged him closer. ‘Do you know how very rare you are, Chief Inspector Stark?’

  ‘No, Lady Amelia Fairfax, but I’d be delighted to have you tell me.’

  She smiled broadly at him. ‘I’ve found your flaw!’ she announced. ‘Vanity!’

  He smiled gently back at her. ‘I have yet to find yours,’ he told her.

  She put her arms around him, then pushed him gently on to his back. ‘Mine is a great appetite,’ she said.

  And she climbed on top of him, her legs straddling him, and her mouth found his again.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Shooting. Guns firing, the sound deafening …

  Stark jerked his head up from the pillow. He was in his bed, not the trenches.

  The sound was from downstairs, from the street door. He pulled on the light and looked at the clock. Six o’clock.

  Hastily, he pulled his trousers on and, barefoot, went out of his room on to the landing. His mother was already there, her dressing gown wrapped around her, a worried expression on her face.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Stark.

  As he went down the stairs, his first thought was that it was one of the Saunders clan, come to exact revenge again, this time for the arrest of Eddie. He stopped by the front door and called out, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Sergeant Danvers, sir!’ came the shout.

  Stark unbolted the door.

  Danvers was standing there in the dark. ‘Sorry to wake you up, sir. The chief super telephoned me at half past five. He sent me to get you, urgently. There’s been another shooting.’

  ‘Where? Who?’

  ‘Regent’s Park. Walter Parrot, the owner of the Daily Bugle.’

  ‘I’ll get dressed and be with you.’ He saw the taxi standing by the kerb. ‘No cars in the motor pool?’

  ‘A taxi was quicker, sir. And he did say it was urgent.’

  Stark nodded, closed the door and hurried back inside. Sarah had come down the stairs and was looking anxiously at him.

  ‘It’s Sergeant Danvers,’ Stark told her. ‘There’s been another killing. I’ve got to go. Will you explain to Stephen?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Who is it?’

  He hesitated. ‘Some newspaper owner,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got all the details yet. I’ll tell you when I get back.’

  With that, he hurried into his room and pulled his clothes on. I should wash, he thought. I still have the scent of her on me. But there was no time. He would wash when he got to Scotland Yard, later. Right now, getting to the scene of the latest crime was more urgent.

  He hurried out to the street and joined Danvers in the back of the taxi.

  ‘Park Square East, Regent’s Park,’ Danvers told the driver.

  As the taxi moved off, Danvers said to Stark, ‘The chief super also said I should ask you to get a telephone installed at home.’

  ‘Or did he say you should tell me to get one put in?’

  ‘It would be wrong for me to tell a superior officer anything.’

  ‘So, what do we know about the shooting?’ asked Stark.

  ‘Apparently, the butler heard the doorbell at five o’clock. He answered it, and a small man was there who said he had to see Mr Parrot.’

  ‘At five o’clock in the morning?’

  ‘It seems that Mr Parrot is a very early bird. He likes to be at the Daily Bugle in Fleet Street when the London editions roll off the press at six. It seems he usually leaves the house at about quarter past five.’

  ‘Suggesting the gunman knew his routine.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘It still seems odd: a stranger turning up at his house at that time of the day, and someone like Walter Parrot seeing him. I presume he did, or did the man burst into the house?’

  ‘No, Mr Parrot went to the door to talk to the man.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘According to the butler, the man said he knew who the killer was.’

  ‘Well, he got that right,’ said Stark wryly.

  ‘Mr Parrot went to the door, and when he got there, the man pulled out a pistol and shot him. One shot in the chest, one in the face.’

  ‘Description of the man?’

  ‘Same as the others. Small, thin.’

  ‘Where was the butler when the actual shooting took place?’

  ‘He’d gone back into the house. He was making coffee for Mr Parrot when he heard the shots.’

  ‘So it was the butler who called in the killing?’

  ‘No, that was a Miss Agatha Redford. She’s Mr Parrot’s private secretary. She was … er … staying the night. Because she’d had to work late. She made a point of telling the duty officer that.’

  Stark nodded. ‘Was Parrot married?’

  ‘No, sir. He was, but he’s divorced.’

  Regent’s Park, reflected Stark. The scene of the first killing, of Lord Amersham. Surely that couldn’t be the connection? Some neighbourhood dispute? No. The second murder had occurred in Maida Vale. What did a newspaper proprietor have in common with a peer of the realm and an MP?

  He thought about the Daily Bugle. A so-called newspaper that spat out propaganda on behalf of the right wing of the Conservative Party. So that would put Walter Parrot in league with Lord Amersham. But not with Tobias Smith who, by all accounts, tended towards the more liberal wing. But there was a connection here and, with this third shooting, they were getting close to finding it; he could sense it.

  The house in Park Square East was large, detached, clearly expensive, but there was no obvious security. No gates, just an open drive to a large garage at the side of the house. In the darkness of pre-dawn, Stark saw police examining the steps of the house and the grounds immediately in front of it, searching for clues: footprints, signs that would point to the killer.

  We already know the killer, thought Stark. He’s the same man who killed the other two. We know his height, his build, the clothes he wears, and that he’s a deadly and accurate shot with a pistol. What we don’t know is who he is, and why he’s doing it.

  Stark sought out the officer in charge, Sergeant Jed Roberts from the nearby Regent’s Park station.

  ‘A bad business,’ sighed Roberts. ‘That’s two here in a short space of time. We’ll be getting a bad reputation.’

  ‘Where’s the body?’ asked Stark.

  ‘Taken away already,’ said Roberts. ‘I’ll do a report on how the scene looked before they took it. It was blocking the door, see, so we had to get shot of it.’

  Stark
nodded. ‘Miss Redford and the butler?’ he asked.

  ‘In the house. The butler’s name is Hoskins. He’s pretty shaken up. Miss Redford seems to be coping better, but I wouldn’t bet on that lasting.’ He hesitated, then added quietly, ‘I think her and Parrot were more than just businessman and secretary, if you get my drift. I don’t want to spread gossip, but it might be worth being aware of that when you talk to her.’

  ‘Anyone else in the house beside them?’

  ‘Housekeeper, two maids, a boy who does the boots,’ said Roberts. ‘They were all up when it happened, working below stairs. It’s an early start for everyone in this household.’

  Stark and Danvers headed for the house and rang the bell.

  A police constable opened the door. ‘Morning, sir,’ he said, recognizing Stark. ‘I’m just here because the butler’s a bit shook up at the moment.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Stark. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the kitchen, with the housekeeper, a Mrs Holmes. They’re feeding him brandies to keep him steady.’

  ‘I heard the bell!’ A woman’s voice made them turn to see a smartly dressed woman in her early thirties approaching them, an anxious look on her face.

  ‘Miss Redford, sir,’ whispered the constable.

  ‘Thank you, Constable,’ Stark murmured. He made a slight bow of his head towards Miss Redford.

  ‘Miss Redford, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Stark and this is Detective Sergeant Danvers.’

  He could see she was working hard to hold herself together. She was a tall, slim woman, her dark hair cut short in a bob, attractive features highlighted by a touch of make-up and lipstick. Although she appeared outwardly collected, the rapid blinking of her eyes and the way she unconsciously twisted her hands together betrayed the fact that she was battling to stop herself from breaking down, at least in this immediate moment.

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you at this difficult time, but we need to get as much information as we can, as swiftly as we can, in order to try to apprehend the culprit.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said.

  ‘You were his private secretary?’

  ‘Yes. Not just for the newspaper, but for his political activities. He trusted me.’

  ‘His political activities?’ queried Stark.

  ‘He sat on various committees.’ She shook her head unhappily. ‘I know he was worried after what happened to Lord Amersham and poor Tobias Smith …’

  ‘Was he involved with them, politically?’

  ‘Well, not really, but he chaired one of the committees they were both on. Although Mr Smith wasn’t actually on it, officially, he had attended a session—’

  ‘Which committee was this?’ asked Stark, suddenly alert.

  ‘The Passchendaele Memorial Fund Charitable Commission. Walter – Mr Parrot – was chairman of the committee. I acted as secretary at most of the meetings because Mr Parrot knew I could be trusted to keep an accurate record of what happened. You know, minutes and keeping the committee informed. You’d be surprised at how lax some of these committee secretaries are. Anyway, after poor Mr Smith was shot, I said to Mr Parrot that he ought to go to the police, that there might be a connection. But he dismissed it. He was so brave! So dismissive of his own safety! He had enemies, you know, because of the attitude of the paper.’

  The Passchendaele Memorial Fund Charitable Commission!

  ‘But we checked Mr Smith’s background, the various committees he served on, and there was no mention of him being on that particular committee.’

  ‘No, as I told you, he wasn’t officially on the committee. It just so happened that a benefits board was due to meet to hear applications, and Walter invited Mr Smith to sit in for that one session. I think he was hoping to persuade Mr Smith to join the board.’

  ‘What happens at the benefits board?’

  ‘People make applications for funds, which are heard by the committee. The committee then takes the decisions on allocating money.’

  ‘Who else was on the board?’

  ‘Brigadier Wellesely, Lord Thomson, Sir Edward Hinds. They made up the five committee members, along with Mr Parrot and Lord Amersham.’

  ‘So at the benefits board when Mr Smith took part …’

  ‘That’s why Walter – Mr Parrot – invited Mr Smith to sit in, through Lord Amersham. Because the brigadier, Lord Thomson and Sir Edward weren’t available for that particular meeting – they are held quarterly – and Mr Parrot liked there to be at least three members on the board to hear the applications. It made it … fairer. Less as if it was just Mr Parrot and Lord Amersham making the decisions.’

  ‘When was this particular meeting?’

  ‘In August. The next board is due to meet next month, November.’

  ‘May I use your telephone?’ asked Stark.

  Miss Redford led him and Danvers to the library and pointed him to the telephone. Stark dialled the Scotland Yard switchboard.

  ‘Put me through to Chief Superintendent Benson,’ he said. ‘Either in his office or at his home. It’s Chief Inspector Stark. It’s very urgent.’

  A few seconds later, he was talking to Benson at his home.

  ‘I think I’ve found the connection between the murders, sir. All three victims sat on a meeting of the board of the Passchendaele Memorial Fund Charitable Commission, allocating funds. My suspicion is that someone took revenge after being turned down.’

  ‘Why on earth would anyone do something as drastic as that, just for being turned down?’ asked Benson, shocked.

  ‘That’s what Sergeant Danvers and I are going to look into,’ said Stark. ‘But if I’m right, then I think that others associated with the charity could be at risk, especially those on the board. I’m telephoning you immediately because I think it’s worth putting police protection on the three remaining members: Brigadier Wellesely, Lord Thomson and Sir Edward Hinds.’

  ‘I’ll see to it at once,’ said Benson. ‘I’ll also tell the Home Secretary we’ve found the motive.’

  ‘At the moment it’s still a theory, sir,’ said Stark warily. ‘But the evidence does seem to point to it.’ Stark hung up and turned to Miss Redford. ‘Just to make sure I’ve got it right: there was a meeting in August of the benefits board at which people put in applications to the charity for funding, and at that meeting the board consisted of Mr Parrot, Lord Amersham and Mr Smith?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Miss Redford.

  ‘No one else was on the board at that meeting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was anyone else in attendance in any other capacity?’

  ‘Well, me, obviously, because I took the minutes.’

  ‘No one else?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Miss Redford, I don’t wish to alarm you unnecessarily, but I believe it would be best for you to have a police bodyguard, just until we’ve apprehended the person who committed these murders.’

  ‘Do you think that’s necessary?’ asked Redford.

  ‘There were four people at that board meeting. Three of them have been killed.’

  ‘But all I did was take the minutes. I didn’t even speak at the meeting. It was the board members who asked the questions of the applicants and made the decisions.’

  ‘That may be the case, but I’m not taking any chances. We’ll station an officer on duty outside your home. There’ll be more than one of them, working in shifts. We’ll also put officers on duty at your office.’

  ‘Won’t they cause inconvenience?’

  Not as much as shooting you dead, thought Stark. Aloud, he said, ‘They will be experienced officers, Miss Redford. Rest assured, they won’t cause any more inconvenience than is necessary. Right now, I’d like a copy of the minutes of that meeting in August, along with a list of the people who applied for funding.’

  ‘Of course. They’re in Mr Parrot’s study. I’ll get them.’

  As she headed for the door, Stark added, ‘Until we get your protection formally arranged, please do
not leave this building.’

  She nodded and left the library.

  ‘What next, sir?’ asked Danvers. ‘Talk to the butler, Hoskins?’

  ‘You do that, Sergeant. Get as much of a description as you can. I’m going to go through the minutes of this charity board meeting. That’s where our killer will be.’

  ‘You really think it’s that simple?’ asked Danvers. ‘Someone who was turned down?’

  ‘This Passchendaele Memorial Fund is the only concrete link we’ve found between the three victims.’

  ‘Yes, but killing them because they turned someone down is a bit of an extreme reaction,’ said Danvers.

  ‘That depends on how extreme the need for funding was,’ said Stark. ‘Desperate people do desperate things.’

  ‘Yes, but this is a charity!’ protested Danvers. ‘What sort of person takes revenge on a charity?’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out,’ said Stark, as Miss Redford returned with a box file.

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘These are the minutes of the meetings, and the applications that were received before the meeting in August.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Stark, taking the box file from her.

  ‘Will there be anything else?’

  ‘Not at the moment, but we may need your help later on.’

  ‘If you need me, I’ll be in Mr Parrot’s study,’ she said. ‘It’s just down the hall.’

  She left, and Stark sat down at a table, opening the box file.

  ‘If you want me, sir, I’ll be in the kitchen with the butler,’ said Danvers.

  Stark opened the paper file marked Minutes of Board Meeting 12th August 1921. As well as the typed minutes, there were about half a dozen letters of application, and other documents, some written, some typed.

  ‘I shall be here, Sergeant,’ said Stark, and he began with the minutes of the meeting.

  There had been seven applications for funding at that meeting. One familiar name on the list caught his eye, a name from the past that hit him hard and caused him to catch his breath. Rennick. Alice Rennick, widow of Ted Rennick.

  Ted and Alf Rennick. Brothers from Bethnal Green, Alf the oldest, Ted two years younger. They’d been in Stark’s unit, Privates Alf and Ted Rennick to his Captain Stark. Stark had been next to Ted when he had been shot through the heart. Stark could see him now, his body falling to lie half in and half out of the mud that clung to them all.