The Smog (A Jean Clarke Mystery Book 1)

by Timothy Allsop

  ‘Yes, well, it’s not mine.’

  Jean finished her cigarette and made no reply.

  ‘Thing is Jean, whatever she told you, it wasn’t the complete truth. I have had relationships with other women. I would have stayed with her, but she had made up her mind that I wasn’t to be trusted. There’s not really anything I could say which would make her believe me.’

  They began to walk again because Harry did not want to have to look at his sister if they were going to have this conversation.

  ‘I’ve always tried to be honest and I would have been a good father. I didn’t want to have to lie about my private life.’

  ‘But you couldn’t exactly be open about it either.’

  Harry felt that his sister was beginning to make an effort to understand him or at least to understand how difficult it had been for him. It seemed that her knowing was as inevitable as the day coming to an end. People had a sixth sense about him and he knew now that he had avoided Jean in recent years because she had a better sense than most when it came to people hiding things.

  ‘You know that father always suspected.’

  ‘Is that why he was so tough on you?’

  ‘Possibly. But I stopped caring what he thought. He brought me into his office to work for a week when I was finishing school and I saw how he behaved with the women who worked there. I caught him once with his hand on one of the girl’s hips. ’ He paused and then continued: ‘Do you remember he used to go away a lot?’

  ‘Oh Harry, I half suspected father was involved with other women for years. You could see how unhappy mother was.’

  ‘After I realised what he was really like, I stopped being scared of him. All that stuff and nonsense about real men have dignity and strength. And then he forced Frank on you.’

  ‘I can’t really blame anyone but myself for marrying Frank.’

  ‘I hope he is all right.’

  Jean hoped so to, but she said nothing.

  ‘What are we doing then?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I need to make a call to Detective Hayward and then we should get down to the docks.’

  Harry, too, wanted to go to the docks. He wanted to see what Charlie looked like although he knew it would upset him to put a face to a name.

  They made their way to St Katherine’s Dock in a taxi, through a night the colour of shale. Jean kept glancing at her watch, the time approaching six thirty and wondered what on earth they were actually going to do when they arrived. The plan had seemed so well formed in her head, but she realized now that she was depending on much that she had little control over.

  They pulled up and the driver pointed the direction that led down to the water. In the dark and growing cold both Jean and Harry became aware of the frailty of their bodies. As they walked along the path they heard a bell tolling from somewhere in the distance. The smog was thick but less yellow than in the city and more like a sea mist. There was no light apart from a few patches of dreary glow from an occasional street lamp.

  ‘Jean, where are you?’ Harry said, momentarily losing sight of her.

  ‘Here,’ she said, and fumbled for his hand.

  They emerged onto a wooden platform and as they stood they could hear the sound of water slapping against the piers somewhere ahead of them. They stared blankly into the night.

  ‘I can’t see a bloody thing,’ Harry said.

  ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘Only speak when we need to.’

  They began to move around the dock as quietly as they could, listening to the water and the creaks and knocks from boats moored next to one another. There was an air of desolation that came from knowing the entire city was obscured from view. Everything about them seemed to moan in warning. Harry jerked at Jean’s arm.

  ‘Let’s wait until the police arrive.’

  At that moment two headlights swung into view a hundred yards ahead of them. They moved towards it and as they neared another set of headlights flickered on and off and was quickly followed by the sound of car doors opening. Jean and Harry came within about twenty-five yards and stopped. Through the fog they could make out three pairs of legs in the rays from the headlights. Jean recognized their voices.

  ‘Charlie not here yet?’ Moss said.

  ‘Not yet. What happened with you two? Did you find Mr Clarke?’ asked Newman.

  ‘There was a bit of trouble. He swiped Kenneth with a hammer.’

  ‘They climbed over the fence,’ Kenneth explained.

  ‘They? What do you mean they?’ Newman said.

  Moss let out a sigh of exasperation.

  ‘It was Phyllis. She was with Harry Clarke.’ Moss said, quietly.

  Jean saw one pair of legs shift in the headlights and turn away from the other two. She presumed they belonged to Newman and she presumed he was showing his displeasure at the news.

  ‘Sorry boss,’ Kenneth said.

  ‘And what the hell happened to Jack?’ asked Newman, a hint of anger in his voice.

  ‘I reckon Charlie knows something about it,’ Moss said. ‘But our journey wasn’t completely wasted. Kenneth, fetch him out of the back, will you?’

  There was the sound of another car door followed by scuffling and moaning. A fourth pair of legs appeared.

  ‘He is Harry Clarke’s brother-in-law, married to that woman who was with Charlie.’

  Jean felt Harry’s hand on her elbow but she moved a little closer.

  ‘Get the fuck off me,’ Frank slurred before his legs gave way.

  ‘We forced half a bottle of scotch down him. Shall we dump him in the river.’

  Someone picked him up off the floor and rested him on the front of the car.

  ‘Not yet. Put him in the back of the car. When Charlie arrives, I want you both in position. Davy is with him and once we have the stash, they’ll tie him.’

  Harry tugged at Jean’s arm and made a gesture of phoning with his hand, but Jean shook her head, pushing her mouth up to his ear.

  ‘We must create a distraction.’

  Another set of lights appeared in the distance, approaching the cars.

  ‘Put him in the car until we need him,’ Newman said. ‘Moss, I want you to talk with Charlie.’

  Jean directed Harry to move a few yards to the left and she made her way forward and onto the edge of a pier. She was about fifteen yards from them now but was careful to keep out of the shafts of light. Suddenly the headlights, apart from those of the approaching car, were switched off. For a moment all she could hear was the water of the Thames beneath the wooden boards and the rumble of the third car as it drew close. It came to a stop and the lights flickered twice. One of the other cars flashed their lights also. The doors of the third car opened with the engine still running and two men climbed out, one of them Jean hadn’t seen before and was presumably Davy, but the other was immediately recognisable as Charlie, even without having a clear view of his face.

  ‘Everything went well?’ Moss asked.

  ‘It got a little hot but Charlie drove well,’ the man with Charlie said.

  Charlie placed a large leather case down on the ground.

  ‘Where’s Newman?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘You look spooked Charlie. Everything all right?’ Moss said.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at what you got then,’ Moss said, coming forward to the bag.

  Davy knelt down and opened it up. He pulled out a handful of necklaces.

  ‘Cleaned the place out.’

  ‘Good job,’ Moss said.

  ‘I need to speak to Newman,’ Charlie said, his voice sounding a little unsteady.

  ‘Do you? And what have you got to say to him?’ Moss said. ‘What could you possibly have to say?’

  Charlie did not answer.

  ‘Tell him lies about Phyllis Clarke, no doubt. You don’t think that none of us knows about that.’

  ‘I don’t care what you think you know Moss.’

  ‘I know she
’s married to another fellow. We caught up with her at the home of a fella called Harry Clarke. Have you heard of him?’

  ‘I want to speak to Newman.’

  ‘She’s dead Charlie.’

  ‘You’re a liar.’

  ‘She looked a mess when we finished with her.’

  Charlie pulled out the gun from his jacket pocket but Davy punched him in the ribs and before Charlie could get an aim at Moss, he was down on his knees on the pier. At the same time Kenneth moved in and kicked him in the side and wrestled the gun free of Charlie’s hands, casually turning him over and placing a foot firmly on his chest.

  A car door opened and out stepped Newman. He walked over to where Charlie was lying.

  ‘The thing is Charlie, I wouldn’t have minded you dating her. I was done with her and though it may surprise you, I’m not a jealous man. But when she and those other girls started playing silly buggers and threatening me after all I’ve done to help them, well…a man has limits. And I hear you’ve taken up with those filthy Maltese bastards.’

  ‘You did nothing for her or for any of them. Those girls were fourteen and fifteen when you put them to work.’

  ‘And yet you kept on working for me Charlie. You were happy to take the money knowing full well what was going on.’

  Charlie tried to get to his feet but now Moss was there too and the three men held him down.

  ‘Where is she?’ Newman asked.

  ‘So you haven’t got her.’

  ‘You tell me where she is and I’ll think about letting you go.’

  Charlie struggled to free himself but Moss planted a foot into his groin and Charlie yelped. At this moment Jean moved forward, screaming.

  ‘Leave him alone.’

  The men all turned, Moss pulling out a gun and pointing it in the vague direction of where he thought the voice was coming from. She shifted back into the smog before Moss could target her.

  ‘Newman, let him go,’ she called.

  ‘Come out and let me see you,’ Newman said.

  Jean shifted away from Harry but as she did her foot caught a piece of chain resting on the pier. Before she had time to think, she dropped to the floor and Moss pointed and fired in her direction. The shot missed her and from the sound of it, the bullet hit a section of the pier near her feet. At the same moment, Harry took the initiative and shouted ‘police,’ and as Moss went to redirect the gun in his direction, Kenneth and the other lad turned in shock, which allowed Charlie the fraction of time he needed to pull one of them off their feet.

  Now there was chaos as Moss let off another shot, which was followed instantaneously by a third and forth shot from somewhere else, one which hit Moss in the chest. He went down. Charlie punched Davy and pushed him off the side of the pier into the water. He then turned to take a swing at Kenneth but Kenneth had recovered his composure enough to plant one first on the right side of Charlie’s jaw. For a moment, Charlie staggered on his feet and Kenneth would have flung him into the water if it hadn’t been for another shot which went straight through his neck. A bizarre look passed over his face, his fingers grasping hopelessly at his neck as he tried to fathom what was blocking his airway, but the bullet had passed clean through him and within a few seconds he was down on the deck, choking to death on his own blood. Charlie threw himself behind the vehicles and everything fell quiet, except for Kenneth who continued to splutter and writhe in the headlights.

  Jean and Harry stood still and listened. Charlie’s friends must have been there too, hiding in the smog.

  ‘Harry, I need you to create a distraction while I get to Charlie,’ she whispered.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just give me time to get to him.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  Jean crept along the pier and towards the roadside where the vehicles were parked. Then from the mist, she heard Newman’s voice.

  ‘Now let’s talk this out,’ called Newman. ‘I’ve got a clear shot at Charlie. If you and your friends don’t come out, I’ll finish him.’

  ‘I’m not scared of you Newman,’ Jean shouted.

  Jean came up to one of the cars. She could hear that she was within a few feet of Newman. He was unsteady on his feet, unsure of who Jean was and how she was connected to Charlie.

  ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ he said.

  There came a cracking sound from somewhere along the dock and a whine like metal. She realized it was Harry. Newman pointed and fired his gun in the direction of the sound.

  ‘I’m not that easily spooked,’ Newman shouted, but his voice sounded rattled.

  ‘Charlie?’ Jean whispered.

  She felt someone grab her from behind and a hand cover her mouth. It was Charlie. He looked stunned to see that it was Jean but there was no time to think, as a shot smashed the windscreen above their heads. Charlie turned, the revolver in his hand, but then he stopped. There were sirens. Many of them.

  ‘You fool,’ Charlie said, realizing what Jean had done. ‘We’d have sorted this.’

  Beams of light began to slice through the air. Newman turned and made for his car and Charlie tried to take a shot at him, but Jean tugged at his arm.

  ‘Let the police get him.’

  Charlie got to his feet, the sirens wailing now. Another shot rang out and Charlie stepped back, his arm reaching up. Newman had caught him with a bullet, but in his haste to get the engine started, Newman had misfired and hit Charlie in the shoulder. Jean watched as Newman turned the car and aimed to get off the pier but seeing a police car coming from his right he hit the accelerator too hard and the car twisted to the left. The car shot forward and then it tipped, the wheels finding the edge of the dock and in a flash the entire vehicle slipped into the water. Before Jean could tell what was happening, there were half a dozen policemen at the edge shouting and aiming their torches at the water. She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Detective Hayward.

  ‘You’re all right now,’ he said.

  She turned about.

  ‘Where’s Charlie?’

  There were shouts from the other end of the pier. Hayward and Jean headed over, but as they approached, Hayward held Jean back with his arm. On the floor before them was a motley sight. A policeman had grabbed hold of one of the Maltese fellows and was twisting the man’s arm behind his back. A few feet away lay Charlie, yelping in pain because Harry was pinning him to the ground and struggling to keep him secure. Hayward jumped in to assist and then two more policemen appeared and within a minute Charlie was in handcuffs and under arrest.

  Hayward pulled Charlie to his feet.

  ‘Harry, are you all right?’ Jean asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Harry and Charlie exchanged a look. For a moment, Harry wanted to blast Charlie out of existence, but then he saw the defeat in Charlie’s eyes and calmed. There was a curiosity from both of them, a question that neither of them would ever be able to answer. Why had Phyllis chosen them? They seemed so utterly unalike. Charlie turned his face toward Jean and in it she saw his anger as ripe as ever, but she did not feel threatened by it. Then Hayward pulled him away and that was the last she would see of him until the trial.

  FIFTEEN

  Jean informed Hayward that there was to be a rendezvous at St Paul’s and also told them about Albert’s café being a cover. The Detective duly took note and later that evening a further three arrests were made. Frank was rescued from the back of Moss’s car and taken to hospital and Harry and Jean went along, but they were turned away by the matron who told them to come back in the morning. Hayward decided they should spend another night at the hotel in Bloomsbury, just to be on the safe side.

  ‘I can’t quite take in all you’ve done, but you two have helped us a great deal,’ Hayward said, as they stood outside the hotel entrance. ‘Saying that, you were fortunate not to be killed.’

  ‘I can’t take any of the credit, Harry said. ‘It really was Jean’s efforts that so
lved this.’

  ‘Yes, well if you ever want to assist the police further…’

  ‘Are you offering me a job?’ Jean asked.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure your husband wouldn’t want you running around the streets of London at all hours.’

  ‘My husband wouldn’t get much say in the matter. But, I’m not sure if I’m ready to wear a uniform just yet.’

  ‘Well, good day to you.’

  As Jean lay awake in the bed that night, she turned over what she had done and wondered whether Phyllis had discovered the news. There was still the possibility that she would turn up and tell Harry the truth about the child. Or perhaps she would be foolish enough to wait for Charlie, but if she did, she would be waiting a very long time.

  The next morning she and Harry returned to the hospital. Frank had several broken ribs and a black eye but had no life threatening injuries. The alcohol was almost out of his system after the doctors had forced him to be sick. Jean sat at his bedside while Harry waited in the hallway.

  ‘Well, Harry’s wife has a queer bunch of friends, I must say.’

  Frank stared at her with the petulance of a child.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘What? You expected me to wait at home indefinitely?’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to do anything.’

  Frank went to say something, but he stopped and looked down at his feet with a helpless expression.

  ‘I don’t know how to look after myself.’

  ‘Frank, I am not coming back,’ Jean said, firmly.

  ‘I need you to come home.’

  ‘I am going to spend some time with my brother. I suggest we have a few weeks apart and then we can discuss the separation.’

  ‘If all you need are a few weeks…’

  ‘What I need right now from you Frank is some money. Where is your jacket?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your jacket. I want you to write out a cheque.’

  ‘Now hold your horses.’

  Jean took Frank’s hand and looked him straight in the eye with an implacable expression.

  ‘I promise to think about coming back if you do this for me. I’m only saying think about it. I want a few weeks to myself so that I can spend some time with my brother. He needs my support far more than you do. Will you do that for me Frank?’