A Death in Winter

by Jim McGrath

  ‘Also, his stuff was lined up on the shelf ready for a left-hander and the knot was tied by a right-hander,’ said Clark.

  ‘Why the hell aren’t you a detective, Clark?’ York asked.

  ‘I tried it once, Serge, it dain’t take.’

  ‘Well, if he was a leftie, he definitely didn’t kill the girl,’ said York. ‘There was a big bruise on the left side of her face. Whoever hit her was right-handed and a lot more powerful than that sack of skin and bone.’

  ‘Yoe can add to that the fact that his knuckles weren’t skinned,’ said Clark.

  ‘So, we’re agreed that either Burgees is the most incompetent Super we’ve ever met or he did a spring clean before we arrived. Why else delay calling us?’ said Hicks.

  ‘But why is he covering up a murder?’ asked Collins.

  ‘Burgess mentioned my old boss Alfie Thomas as soon as we arrived. He moved to Special Branch in 1959 and Burgess as good as told me that he’d spoken to him that morning.’

  ‘But why are they interested in the murder of a young girl?’

  ‘They’re not, Mickey. Them interested in who done it. Ain’t that right, Sir?’

  ‘Yes. My guess is that Young was involved with some important people. Maybe he was the one who got the girls for them. When they found out we had a line on him, they killed him to protect themselves.’

  ‘But the only way they could know we were onto him was if the Stratford Police or Carver told them.’

  ‘My money’s on Carver,’ said Clark.

  ‘I think you’re probably right,’ said York. ‘Burgess was just doing a bit of damage control – maybe because he was told to do it or maybe because he’s in on it.’

  ‘So where do wi go from here, Sir?’ asked Clark.

  ‘I think you know that, Clark. The case is closed. My guess is that it will be official by Tuesday.’

  ‘But Sir, what about the evidence?’ asked Collins.

  ‘I know, lad, but there’s nothing I or any of us can do about it. You and Collins did a great job, but I’m afraid it’s over. We’ve been warned off. Best to heed the warning.’

  ‘Feck. Is that how justice works in England?’ asked Collins.

  ‘Na. It’s how it works everywhere when the rich or the secret service are involved,’ said Clark, clearing his throat.

  York drove back to the station. The men had their killer but the mood was one of disappointment. Hicks said that he and York would visit Mrs Winston and tell her the news. For her sake, they agreed that all she needed to know was that her daughter’s killer had murdered a second girl and then committed suicide.

  Collins and Clark walked in silence down Thornhill Road. Both felt cheated of their prize, but what was there to do?

  Turning onto Holly Road, Clark said, ‘Me Missus wants you to come around for lunch tomorrow. Seems she’s got this stupid idea in her head that you saved me life and wants to thank you.’

  ‘That would be grand. Its ages since I had a home-cooked meal.’

  ‘Well, don’t get too excited. It’ll only be soup or something. She did want you for Sunday dinner next week, but she couldn’t wait till then to meet me saviour. The way she’s going on, you’d think I were incapable of getting out of a bloody hole by meself.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you?’

  ‘Listen, I’ve been digging meself out of me holes of me own creation since I were a nipper,’ Clark stopped. ‘That din’t come out right, did it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fair enough. Just be there for 1.’

  Part Two: Nights

  Monday 18th February 1963.

  Handsworth, 11.00hrs.

  Collins had been advised by Clark to sleep until about 9 and then go back to bed for a couple more hours’ sleep around 5, as preparation for his first night shift. But Collins knew that he would never be able to sleep in the afternoon, so he stayed in bed until mid-morning.

  When he finally walked into the kitchen, it was gone 11 and a middle-aged, red-haired woman was emptying a tin of mushroom soup into a small pan. The pocket of her blouse had been torn and she’d been crying, but other than that she seemed to be fine. She gave Collins a timid smile and replied to his greeting with a whispered ‘Morning’, before returning her attention to stirring the soup.

  Collins went to the cupboard and removed a loaf of thick sliced bread. With lunch at Clark’s, toast would do for breakfast. At that moment, Gloria announced her arrival with a loud crash as she slipped on the last step of the stairs and shouted ‘Fuck it’.

  The effect on the woman was instant. Her whole body stiffened, her shoulders hunched up and she pulled on the pan handle, causing some of the soup to spill. Collins watched as she tried to relax.

  Turning slowly, she said, ‘I’m a bit nervous. New place, you know.’ Her voice sounded middle-class, but her eyes had none of the easy confidence that Collins always associated with such people.

  He just had the time to say ‘I know the feeling well’, before the whirlwind that was Gloria blew into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello. What you pair up to? You need to watch this guy, Mary, he’ll have your knickers off before you know it. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind if he ripped mine off.’

  The bruising around Gloria’s eye and face had faded. Another couple of days and it would be gone. She was wearing an old dressing gown that trailed the ground behind her and was probably the cause of her slip.

  ‘Stop embarrassing the poor woman,’ said Agnes from the doorway. ‘Not everyone enjoys your agricultural approach to sex.’

  ‘What yous mean agricultural. I’ve never been with a farmer in me life.’ Agnes smiled and Gloria went over to Mary and put her arm around her. ‘Don’t mind me, love. I’m as common as muck, but I don’t mean no harm. Here, I’ll finish warming that soup. You sit yourself down.’

  ‘Mary, this is Constable Collins. He lives here. He’s here to help if needed. So don’t worry. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here.’

  Mary responded with a whispered, ‘Thank you.’

  Collins thought she was about to cry and, by instinct, laid his hand on her shoulder. She jumped at his touch. Removing his hand, he said, ‘Agnes is right; you’re safe here.’ Conscious that Mary didn’t like being the centre of attention, Collins turned to Agnes and said, ‘What are you up to today, Agnes?’

  ‘I thought I might pay a visit to Mrs Winston. Poor woman must be distraught. Do you mind if I mention your name when I call? It won’t get you in more trouble?’

  ‘No, not at all. After all, the case is all but officially closed.’ He stressed the word officially in such a way that both Agnes and Gloria looked at him quizzically.

  Collins arrived at five to one for lunch and was introduced to Ruth, the pretty dark-haired woman he’d seen on his first day on the job and mistook for Clark’s fancy woman. Up close, she was even prettier than he had thought. She was maybe 5 foot 4,with jet-black hair, dark eyes that flashed with humour and life, and a smile that burned brightly long after she had turned it off.

  Her hand was soft and warm in his and she pressed hard as she said, ‘Thank you for saving my stupid husband’s life.’ Her voice was as soft as a baby’s skin, and although her English was perfect her accent was foreign. One of those Eastern European countries, like Hungary or Czechoslovakia.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell yoe he dain’t save my life. I was in perfect control of the situation. All I had to do was reach me knife and I could’ve clawed meself out.’

  ‘Yes, of course you could, dear,’ she said, winking at Collins.

  Collins gave Ruth a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray and followed Clark into the lounge. Ruth went to check on the food.

  ‘This is a grand house. How did you get it?’

  ‘It’s one of the new police houses. We were in digs near the
park and I got wind that they were building these before them were even announced, and got in first.’

  ‘Well, you did alright for yourself. With the house and Ruth. You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘I know it. During the war, I never let meself think of what it would be like after it were all over. I’d seen too many of me mates cop it for that nonsense. But if I had, then this is what I would have dreamed about,’ he said contentedly.

  Collins envied his friend’s life. He was doing a job he obviously loved, had a happy marriage and didn’t want anything else from life.

  Clark had described it as lunch. However, when Collins sat down at the table, he was confronted with a steaming bowl of stew, potatoes and a choice of three vegetables. He ladled a large helping of stew onto his plate, and added potatoes and all three vegetables. He saw Ruth smiling and said by way of explanation, ‘This is the first home-cooked meal I’ve had since I left Ireland and it smells wonderful. What is it?

  ‘Beef stroganoff. It’s like your Irish stew, but has garlic and a few spices in it.’

  ‘Tuck in,’ said Clark.

  Collins pushed his plate away and sighed contentedly. ‘Ruth, that was grand. Can I come again?’

  ‘As often as you like,’ she replied, laughing. ‘Would you like your dessert now?’

  ‘I couldn’t eat another morsel,’ said Collins and crossed his hands. ‘Can we leave it a bit?’

  ‘Of course.’

  They were just about to move away from the table when the phone rang. Ruth answered, listened for a few seconds and then shouted, ‘Clive, it’s Mom. They’ve got a burst pipe. Can you go around and give Dad a hand?’

  Clive looked to the heavens, but his reply was immediate and without any trace of annoyance. ‘Tell her I’m on me way.’

  Collins offered to tag along, but Clark told him to stay warm and finish his lunch. Less than ten minutes later, Clark was heading out into the grey afternoon with light snow falling and the temperature heading down yet again. ‘Save me pud till I get back, love.’

  Ruth made tea for Collins and a coffee for herself, and they sat in the lounge looking at the falling snow. It was barely 2 on a mid-February day, yet it was almost dark. Looking to make conversation, Collins asked, ‘So where did you and Clive meet?’

  Ruth didn’t reply immediately. She seemed to be thinking about what to say, which surprised Collins. After all, it was a routine question that she must have been asked many times before.

  Finally she seemed to make her mind up and said, ‘We met in Bergen-Belsen.’

  Her reply left Michael speechless.

  Ruth could see his embarrassment and carried on quickly, ‘I was sent there with my parents and sister in 1945. She was fourteen. I was twelve, nearly thirteen. Ester was very ill. I was sure she was going to die, but then the British came and an English doctor gave her a new drug called penicillin and she started to get better. I still wonder why he gave her one of the very few doses he had.’ She stopped and stared at the fire. The memory of what happened was playing like a film in her head.

  ‘About a week after the camp was liberated, we decided to go back to our hut and dig up the only thing we had left from home – our parents’ wedding rings. My father had known or guessed what would happen to him and Mama when we arrived at the camp and he gave us the rings. I won’t tell you where we hid them. Just as Papa feared, the Nazis separated us at the camp gates. Anyone who didn’t follow orders was beaten or set upon by the dogs. Our parents went to the right, to the gas chambers. We went left, to work and die later.’

  Collins sat still, not even sipping his tea, afraid that if he did Ruth would stop talking.

  ‘After the liberation of the camp, there were so many dead and sick people that the British used captured Germans as orderlies and grave diggers. When we reached our hut, two Germans came around the corner. They were drunk. The older one, a big stupid Nazi, was waving a Luger around and laughing. His friend was young and spotty. Hardly old enough to be a soldier. When he saw us, he waved us over with the gun. We were afraid he would shoot. We should have run, but my sister was too weak. Like so many before us, we did as we were told.

  ‘He said to us, “What are you Jewish bitches doing here?” Only, he didn’t say bitches. Then the spotty one put his arm around my sister. She pushed him away. He punched her in the face and she fell down. He began to kick her, calling her a Jewish whore and other names. Then he dived on her and started to rip her clothes off, all the time slapping and punching her. I started to scream and the man with the Luger hit me across the mouth. The sight on the gun barrel left this scar.’ She pointed to a small v-shaped scar on her left cheek.

  ‘Finally, the spotty one got on top of my sister and started to rape her. She just lay there. He screamed at her to move, but she spat in his face. That’s when he smashed her head on the floor and kept doing it until she lay quiet. I can still see the blood.

  ‘I was terrified. I knew what was going to happen to me and I wet myself. Then, this small English soldier came running around the corner. He had a machine gun and I thought I was saved, but he started laughing. Then he said, in German, “Having a bit of fun, lads, before you get shipped back to Germany, are you? Mind if I join in?” The big one laughed and relaxed, dropping the gun to his side. That was when Clive shot him in the head with a single burst of fire.’

  Ruth stopped speaking. When she spoke again, her voice was hard and full of conviction, ‘He died too quickly. The other one tried to run and Clive shot him in the legs. He fell on his face screaming. Clive came over and helped me up. He then looked at my sister and said, “I’m sorry, love, she’s dead.” The spotty one was lying on the floor rolling about and screaming. Clive went over to him and placed his foot on the man’s chest and raised his gun – but then he stopped and asked, “Do you want to do it?” I think that’s when I fell in love with him. I took the gun and shot him in the groin. He screamed even louder and called me names. I let him scream. Then, I shot him in the stomach. He took two or three minutes to die. It was too quick,’ said Ruth, a trace of pride in her voice. ‘And if I had the chance to kill more of those who ran the camps, I would.’

  ‘What happened afterwards?’ Collins asked.

  ‘Clive visited me every day for two weeks. On the last day, he said that he’d arranged for me to be taken to my new home in England. It was only when I reached Birmingham that I realised he’d sent me to stay with his parents – my new Momma and Papa. After the war, I asked him how he’d arranged it.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Just that he had friends in high places.’

  ‘What did he mean by that?’

  ‘He never told me.’ Ruth got up and moved to the sideboard and opened the left-hand drawer. ‘It was after we got married that I found this. I think this was his friends in high places.’ She handed Michael a small black jewellery box with the royal crest on the lid.

  Michael opened it. ‘Bloody hell! Sorry. Is this what I think it is?’

  ‘Yes. The Victoria Cross.’

  ‘What did he win it for?’

  ‘He’s never told me. When I try to tell him that he’s a hero, he always says the same thing: “All the real heroes are dead, love”. Ruth picked up the box and closed the lid gently.

  ‘He doesn’t talk about his war service at work. I don’t even know which branch of the military he was in.’

  ‘He was in the Commandos. His work took him all over Europe and Scandinavia, but he’s never told me any of the details.’

  Collins was amazed, yet not surprised. The Commandos and the VC explained a lot of things: how a man who was clearly under regulation height had made it into the force; why he could call the Superintendent Boss instead of Sir and use any language he liked in front of senior officers; why he was given new officers to look after when there were officers twice hi
s size who would appear to be better minders for wet-behind-the-ears probationers. Many of the men at the station had served honourably in the war, many had shown courage, but it was clear from the tiny brass cross, made from the Russian cannons at the Siege of Sevastopol, that Clark was something special.

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Rising, Ruth took the medal and returned it to the sideboard. Turning, she said, ‘Why don’t you help me wash up before I make us both another drink and you can have your pudding. Clive tells me you don’t drink. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Isn’t that unusual for an…’ She stopped in mid-sentence, embarrassed.

  ‘For an Irishman, you mean?’ Ruth nodded. ‘I come from a long line of drunks and I don’t want to join them.’

  ‘And you thought you might join them?’

  ‘Very easily.’

  Ruth didn’t pursue the subject. Instead, she asked Collins, ‘What’s your new landlady and digs like?’

  Collins was still talking about Agnes twenty minutes later when Clark returned.

  Later, as he walked back to his digs, Collins thought about what he had just seen and heard. He’d grown used to Clark’s cocky, confident and aggressive nature, but at home he was different. He was softer in how he spoke – less strident, more caring and certainly gentle in how he acted around Ruth. Collins decided that Clark was a very lucky man.

  As he opened the house gates, an unbidden thought came to mind. If Clark was able to switch between personalities, like changing his overcoat, which was the real Clark? And were there any more characters lurking inside him?

  Agnes rang the bell to Mrs Winston’s flat and waited. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps in the hall and the door opened a few inches. ‘If you from the press, I don’t want to talk. Go away. Please.’

  ‘I’m not from the press, Mrs Winston. My name’s Agnes Winter. I’m a friend of Constable Collins. He saw you last week. I know that Inspector Hicks visited you yesterday and explained what has happened. I just wanted to say how sorry I am for the death of your beautiful daughter and to ask you if I could help in any way.’