by Jim McGrath
Clark and Collins marched into the Super’s office and came to attention. Sitting beside Hollis was Superintendent Wise. Tall and lean, he looked like a hungry vulture with a beaked nose and a huge Adam’s apple that moved up and down like a yoyo. Sitting behind them, near the door, was a third man that neither Collins nor Clark had noticed as they entered.
Superintendent Hollis lost no time on introductions. ‘I told you pair to stop working on the Winston Case and leave it to Burgess, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Clark.
‘Then why the hell were you at Eddie Bishop’s gaff last Friday?’
‘Wi were just trying to tie up a few loose strings from our side, Sir.’
‘A few strings my arse. You deliberately disobeyed my orders and those of the ACC. Tell me why I shouldn’t put you both on a disciplinary?’
‘It were my fault, Sir. The lad was just following me lead. If anyone should be disciplined, it should be me.’
‘That’s not true, Sir. It was me that suggested we go and see Bishop. Constable Clark was against the idea.’
‘Yoe see what I have to put up with, Superintendent?’
For the first time, Superintendent Wise spoke, ‘Hell knows, every copper in Birmingham wants to bring Bishop down and from what I’ve heard you did a good job of rattling him.’
Collins and Clark exchanged glances. How the hell did he know that they’d rattled the great Eddie Bishop? Come to that, how did he know they’d even visited him?
‘But, you see, you fucked up a four-month investigation we had going. Gentlemen, may I introduce you to Detective Sergeant James Richards, our man on the inside of Bishop’s operation.’
Turning to look at the man behind them for the first time, it took a few seconds to recognise the face without the pancake make-up, the touch of rouge and the elaborately styled hair.
‘Nice to see you again. I have to say you made quite an impression on Eddie. He really would like to cut your balls off and stick them down your throat. Me, I’d settle for giving you pair a right good kicking. But judging from what you did to Shepard and his pals, Constable Clark would probably put me in hospital before I laid a glove on either of you.’
‘Yes, we know all about your little escapade on Thursday night. An incident that you also failed to report,’ said Superintendent Hollis.
‘Sorry, Sir. Just trying to save on paperwork.’
‘Careful, Constable Clark, you’re walking a tightrope.’
‘Excuse me, Sir,’ said Collins, ‘could I ask how our actions have interfered with Central’s robbery investigation?’
Richards looked at his boss, who nodded. ‘We heard that Bishop was eyeing up a fashion company in Digbeth, but he wanted a man on the inside before he’d do it – so I took a job there. I’ve spent the last four months trying to get Bishop to trust my alter ego, Queen Reggie, enough to finally do the job. It was all set up for next Friday. He was even going to go along for the ride. We’d have caught him and his entire gang red-handed. But your visit threw a scare into him and he’s decided to batten down the hatches and play safe until this Simone thing blows over.’
Collins and Clark let the new information sink in. If only they had waited a week, Bishop would have been in custody and who knows what he might have been willing to say about the Major and his friends for a reduced sentence. The truth was that they had screwed up, but, even so, Collins wasn’t sorry for what they had done. He was surprised when he found himself saying, ‘We’d like to apologise, Sir, to Superintendent Wise and Sergeant Richards for messing up their operation, but the truth is that Bishop is into worse things than armed robbery – and no one is doing anything about it.’
‘And you thought it was your job to do something?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Superintendent Hollis looked at the men from Central, as if to say “See what I have to put up with”, then turned to Clark and Collins and said, ‘You may be right, Constable Collins, but in this force you follow orders. I’ve told you once, and now I’m telling you for the second and last time. The Simone Winston case is no longer your concern. Lay off it or you’ll both be for the high jump. Clear?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Collins and Clark in unison.
‘Good. Now, get out and don’t let me see you in this office again.’
Collins and Clark walked slowly up Soho Road. Neither was looking forward to delivering their message and both were still thinking about how they had comprehensively ruined the police’s best chance in years to arrest Eddie Bishop and his mates.
‘Yoe know, Mickey lad, wi got off lightly today. The Super could have thrown the book at us. I’ve come to the conclusion that it can only be me innate charm that’s keeping us safe from the sack.’
‘We’re not going to stop, are we?’
‘Not a chance Mickey. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.’
Collins smiled and lowered his head into the wind.
Mr Hopkins’ house was a three-up, three-down on Boulton Road, which had been built around 1900. The snow had been cleared away from the pavement outside the house and gritted, as had the short path and steps leading to the front door. Collins rang the bell and waited. Mr Hopkins was in his mid-sixties and of average height, with grey receding hair and a slight build. He was dressed in a white shirt with the starched collar removed, a brown jumper and corduroy trousers to match. The clothes were old but spotless.
He looked at Collins and said, ‘She’s dead, isn’t she? My Edith is dead.’
‘I’m very sorry to say that she is, Mr Hopkins. Your wife died peacefully at 12.45pm in Dudley Road Hospital,’ said Clark. ‘Mind if wi come in?’
‘Aye, come on in. The day’s not fit for man nor beast.’
Inside, the house looked like it had been given a full spring clean in the last day or two. Every surface had been wiped down and polished. Each ornament and book had been taken down, dusted and put back in its place. Collins realised that he’d done it for his Edith. He thought she was coming home.
Mr Hopkins led them through the front room and into the living room where a roaring coal fire was burning, above which was a framed picture of the Sacred Heart.
‘Sit yourselves down, lads, and I’ll make you a cuppa. You must be perished.’
‘No, Mr Hopkins. Why don’t yoe have a sit down and Constable Collins here will make yoe a cuppa. He’s a dab hand in the kitchen. Aren’t yoe, Mickey?’
‘That I am,’ said Collins, already heading for the kitchen. He put the kettle on and then stood in the doorway, watching as Clark engaged the old man in conversation.
‘Is that your wedding photo, Mr Hopkins?’
‘That it is, May 1919. I’d wanted to marry her sooner, but her father wouldn’t allow it until the war ended. He didn’t want her to be a widow. There were a lot of young widows hereabouts.’
‘You made a bostin couple.’
‘I don’t know about me, but she were beautiful. There were a lot of lads after her, but she chose me. I’ll never know why.’
‘Oh, that’s easy, she picked the one she thought were the best of the bunch, and if yoe stayed together for forty-four years, she must have picked right.’
The old man smiled and, leaning across, patted Clark on the knee, ‘You’re a kind man, Constable, but I’d expect nothing less from a man with the Victoria Cross,’ he said, pointing at the ribbons above Clark’s left breast pocket.
Collins was surprised to see Clark blush. Stepping forward, he pointed at a picture of a young man in a navel uniform that sat beside the wedding photo on the sideboard. ‘Is this your son?’
‘Aye. That’s Jimmy. He were on the Arctic convoys when he got killed in 1942. Edith were never the same again. You see, he were her only child. Something went wrong when he were born and she could never have any more kiddies. Not righ
t; not fair.’
Collins wasn’t sure if it was his son’s death or his wife’s condition that he was referring to but didn’t ask. The kettle whistled and he went out to make the tea. ‘There’s some chocolate digestive biscuits here. Do you want a couple, Mr Hopkins?’
‘No, lad, but bring ‘em in for you and your mate.’
They sat and drank their tea, and Mr Hopkins told them of the first day he’d seen Edith, of how terrified he’d been to ask her out. And the golden days when they’d put little Jimmy in his pram and taken a walk around Handsworth Park, and listened to the band or chased him through the raked piles of autumn leaves. These and other small ordinary moments were remembered and recounted.
After an hour, Clark asked, ‘Is there anyone you’d like us to call, Mr Hopkins?’
‘Na, lad, there’s no one. There were always only the two of us and, for a while, we were three.’
On impulse, Collins said, ‘I’ll drop in tomorrow before my shift. See if there’s anything you need.’
‘No need, lad, but thanks anyway.’
As they walked away from Boulton Road, neither man spoke until they had reached Soho Road. Collins said, with feeling, ‘Poor old sod.’
Clark nodded in agreement.
When Collins and Clark returned to the station for their snap at 6, they were surprised to find Sergeant Richards in the canteen. Stocked up with a mug of tea each and a plate of sausage and mash with onion gravy and peas, they sat down beside him.
‘Sorry about messing yoer case up,’ said Clark.
‘Don’t worry about it. The wages job is just delayed, not cancelled – provided I can continue to string him along, we’ll get him in the next six months or so.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ asked Collins.
‘Certainly.’
‘How are you able to keep the act up? I mean, what if some man had tried it on?’
‘That’s easy, darling. I’m what’s known as a choosy queen,’ replied Richards. He extended his right arm, made his wrist limp and pointed his fingers down as if he was expecting Collins to kiss the back of his hand. ‘Unfortunately, very few men ever come up to my requirements,’ he lisped. ‘Therefore, they are all rejected with varying degrees of rudeness and humiliation. This feeds my reputation as a real bitch and makes most men wary of me. As for all my conquests, they consist of men that no one knows or have ever met. You see, I let it be known that I’m particularly attracted to straight men, which explains why no one meets them.’
The change in Mitchell’s voice and demeanour had been total and instantaneous. He was like an actor who had totally inhabited his role. Throwing off his Queen Bitch character, he returned as quickly to his Sergeant Richards.’ persona. ‘But tell me about your murder and this Major guy,’ he continued. ‘I’ve never heard Bishop speak of him, but when you mentioned the name, he looked like Hamlet when he first saw his father’s ghost.’
Clark looked at Collins and gave an imperceptible shake of the head, before launching into a summary of the case. Collins was content to stay quiet and get on with eating his dinner and drinking his tea, but listened intently to what Clark said and didn’t say. It was obvious to him that Clark was providing Richards with a much abridged version of their investigation, one that contained no reference whatsoever to The Palms, Spencer, Ravenal, Carver or Begley. The only link that their case might have to Bishop, he said, was a tip off from an unnamed Tom who said that Bishop supplied underage girls, and they wanted to know if he’d supplied Simone to this Major character.
As Clark finished his story, Richard’s pushed his tea cup away and, leaning forward, smiled. ‘I know you’ve only told me half the story and I understand why. I also know that regardless of what your Super says you’re going to go on investigating this case and I don’t blame you. I’d probably do the same thing myself – Qui audet adipiscitur and all that. All I’d ask is that you keep me informed so that we don’t get our lines crossed again.’
Taking out a small business card, he wrote a telephone number on it and handed it to Clark. ‘Call me anytime, day or night, and I’ll do anything I can to help.’
Outside, the wind had got up and was blowing in the men’s faces as they tramped towards Soho Road.
‘There’s something wrong about Richards, isn’t there? That’s why you didn’t want me to say anything.’
‘Yoer right. The thing is, I think he wanted us to know that he weren’t kosher. If you can survive four months under cover with Bishop, yoe don’t drop Latin and Shakespeare into the conversation when yoer talking to a couple of fellow coppers unless you are sending them a message.’
‘But what’s the message?’
‘I ain’t sure, but I think he were telling us that he ain’t a regular copper. That we can trust him. My guess is he works for MI5 or Special Branch, something like that.’
‘Why them?’
‘Because public school oiks – and he is one of ‘em, I’m sure – don’t join the police. After school, they go to university and then into the forces or security services if they want a bit of excitement.’
‘How do you know he went to public school?’
‘I can smell ‘em. They think they’re superior to the rest of us and don’t mind letting it show. Besides, his queer act is a bit too good.’
Collins considered what Clark had said. He started to nod his head. ‘If he is Special Branch or MI5, why is he interested in a gangster like Bishop?’
Clark raised an eyebrow and said nothing. He waited as Collins joined the dots up.
‘He’s not interested in Bishop. He’s interested in the Major or whoever Bishop supplies girls and Toms to. Important people. They’re potential security risks.’
‘That’s one possibility. Or, if the Major is someone important, he may be protecting him by making sure that his links with Bishop don’t come out.’
‘We need to find out what Richards is really up to.’
‘True enough. Yoe should ask Agnes to raise it when she speaks to her friend in London.’
‘Why would he know anything about Richards? Her friend is just a clerk. He wouldn’t know anything about Richards.’
‘If yoe believe that, you must be in love with her. Agnes ain’t going to see some piss ant clerk. She’s seeing someone important.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Call it a hunch, but she got right flustered when I mentioned Station X at lunch on Sunday.’
‘But she never worked there.’
‘Mickey, Station X were special. I doubt that anyone who ever worked there would admit it. I don’t know what they did, but the word was that if Gerry ever bombed Station X about 50 % of the brainiest people in Britain would be wiped out. So, they could only have been working on one of two things. The A bomb or intelligence gathering. My guess is it were spying. Yoe dain’t need linguists like Agnes to make a bomb, but them bloody useful if you were eavesdropping on Gerry.’
‘And you think Agnes was involved in that?’
‘I think she worked at Station X, which means that she mixed with some very important people. Many of ‘em are probably still in intelligence. I’ll bet me next wage packet that she’s gone to see an old friend who can give her the low-down on Tobin and his friends.’
‘But why would she want to hide something she did nearly twenty years ago?’
‘A little thing called The Official Secrets Act. Wi all signed it and wi all took it seriously. It were true what they said in the war: loose talk did cost lives. Besides, if wi were to gab on about some things, even now,we’d end up in the clink – which ain’t a nice place for ex-policemen.’
‘Is that why you don’t talk about the war.’
‘Na, I just want to forget about the war.’
‘Even your VC?’
‘Especially me VC.
’
Something in Clark’s voice registered with Collins. He knew instinctively that now was the time to ask the question he’d wanted to ask since Ruth had shown him the medal. ‘Why don’t you want to talk about the VC? Why do you want to forget it?’
Clark stopped and looked at Collins. The wind was blowing harder and the people on Soho Road flowed around Clark as if he was a rock in the middle of a river. All they were interested in was getting home, putting their feet up and watching one of the nine million stories from The Naked City on telly that night. Slowly, Clark smiled. ‘Yoe’ve got the gift for asking the right questions at the right time, yoe know that? OK, let’s grab a brew at The Boundary Café and I’ll tell you about it. After that, yoe never raise it again. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
‘And remember, avoid any puddles yoe see in the café, especially the yellow ones.’
As always, Sid was pleased to see Clark, whose frequent visits and reputation was sufficient to ensure that his café never had any problems with the local teddy boys. ‘What’ll it be, gents?’ he asked, ushering the two men to a nice warm table near the kitchen and out of any drafts.
‘Just tea and toast, Sid,’ said Clark.
While they waited, neither man felt the need to talk. Instead, they relaxed and rubbed some circulation back into their hands and face, content to be warm for the first time since leaving the station nearly two hours earlier.
Within a couple of minutes, Sid reappeared with their order and left. Only then did Collins lean forward and ask, ‘So why do you want to forget something that any man would be proud of?’
