by Mike Hollow
“Oh, Arthur,” she said again. She leaned her head against his shoulder and clung to him.
CHAPTER 23
Jago paused for a moment to make sure there was no sign of movement in the feet, then handed the lamp back to Cradock.
“We’ll have to break in,” he said. “You go in through that window.”
“But it’s private property,” said Cradock. “Shouldn’t we get the owner’s consent?”
“The owner’s out and his wife doesn’t know where. And besides, that looks like someone who’s ill or injured, so it’s our duty to go in and attend to him – or her. Now carry on.”
The windows were small, and Cradock could see no sign of a latch on the inside. It looked as though they weren’t made for opening. Surveying the surrounding area with his lamp, he saw a broom leaning against the wall. He took it in both hands and struck the handle end forcibly against the top right-hand corner of the window. There was a smash of glass and then silence again.
“Shall I climb in, then, sir?” said Cradock.
Jago studied the sill. Now that air raids were coming on a regular basis, and flinging himself to the ground seemed to have become part of his daily routine, he had taken to wearing old clothes while on duty. For someone who took pains to be smart it was a sacrifice, but it made sense. Even so, he thought, he wasn’t going to wreck a serviceable coat and a pair of comfortable old flannels wriggling about over broken glass when a younger and more agile man was available to do that for him.
“Yes,” he said. “Nip round to that door and open it for me. It looked like a Yale lock from the outside, so we may be in luck.”
Cradock clambered up into the space where the window had been and dropped inside. After a quick sweep of the room with his lamp he disappeared in the direction of the door and opened it. Jago went in, closing it behind him. They made their way down a corridor.
“The blackout curtains haven’t been drawn here either,” said Cradock. “I suppose that could mean no one was planning to use this building tonight.”
“Or?” said Jago.
“Or that whoever those feet belong to has been lying there since before it got dark.”
“Indeed. Now, close those curtains in case anyone comes along and sees a light in here. We don’t want that Cooper or any of his pals giving us a nasty surprise.”
They reached the room where Cradock had forced his entry. Jago took the lamp and shone it on the pair of feet, then followed the line of the body up to the head. It was a man, lying awkwardly on his back. Blood glistened in the lamplight. He seemed to have been stabbed several times in the chest. Jago crouched down and studied the face. It was frozen in the contortions of pain, and the eyes were staring fixedly ahead.
“Hang on a minute,” he said. “I’ve seen this chummy before.” He thought for a moment, trying to place the man. “Yes, Rita’s café. That’s where it was. He was there on Saturday, before we went to the football. Do you remember him?”
“I didn’t get a look at his face then, sir. But I do know who he is.”
“You know his name? How’s that?”
“I was talking to him only yesterday. It’s Cooper, sir. Frederick Cooper.”
“Well I never,” said Jago. “I thought he looked up to no good when I saw him at the café. He’s not going to be giving us any trouble now, though, is he?” He got to his feet and dusted off his trousers. “Have a look through his pockets and see if you can find anything.”
Cradock knelt on the floor and put his hand into each of Cooper’s pockets.
“Just a wallet in his jacket, sir.”
He opened it and checked the contents.
“Thirty-two pounds in pound notes and about fifteen bob in loose change, sir. Nothing else in it. And a bunch of keys in his trouser pocket.”
He started to get up but stopped.
“Actually, sir, I think there’s something underneath him.”
He took hold of a small piece of string that was protruding from beneath Cooper’s body and tugged gently, but it would not move. He carefully lifted Cooper’s body a little on one side and saw beneath it a partially crushed brown cardboard box attached to the string.
“Looks like he’s fallen on his gas mask, sir.”
Jago peered down over Cradock’s shoulder.
“Or possibly his killer’s. A man like Cooper will have put up a fight if he had half a chance, so it could have come off either of them.”
“I’ve just remembered, sir. When I came to open the door to you there was a coat and hat hanging on the back of the door, and a gas mask case too. At the time I assumed they were Cooper’s and I thought nothing more of it. I didn’t want to keep you waiting outside.”
They went to the door.
“A good-quality coat,” said Jago. “With a Burberry label inside. They’re not cheap.” He took the gas mask case down from the door and examined it. “And this isn’t just your common or garden government-issue cardboard box. It looks like a leather carrying case. Both of these would suit a wide boy like Cooper. We’ll have to ask his wife about them, but it looks as though he hung these here on his way in. In which case the one on the floor could be his killer’s. I’ll take that with us. And bring the wallet and keys with you too. Now let’s have a look round in here. And see if you can find a weapon: he’s been stabbed, but there’s no sign of anything it might have been done with.”
The two men examined the room as best they could with the limited light they had available. What had looked like a table when viewed from outside the window was now revealed to be a kind of workbench running for about twelve feet along the wall. A heavy and complicated-looking Underwood typewriter occupied one end, while the other was empty except for a neat stack of six small cardboard boxes. Jago opened one.
“Interesting,” he said. “Look at these.”
He pulled out a handful of buff-coloured cards and showed them to Cradock.
“Identity cards,” said the detective constable. “That certainly can’t be legal. Not in a dive like this. Stolen, do you think?”
“That or fakes,” said Jago. “Either way, worth a lot in the right hands. We’ll take a few of these away with us and then get the rest transported to the station.” He slipped the cards into an envelope and put them in his pocket. “So our Mr Cooper was indeed up to no good. I wonder whether this was the ‘stationery’ that Villiers was printing for him and keeping so quiet about. Perhaps there was a delivery on Saturday night after all. It makes sense. There’d certainly be less risk for Cooper if he could get someone to print them for him rather than steal them. The government doesn’t exactly leave them lying around for people to help themselves. And a man like him would probably have all the contacts for forging the stamps and suchlike, and for selling them too.”
“Yes, I don’t suppose he’d be planning to flog them in Queen’s Road Market.”
There was a brief silence as Cradock thought.
“But that complicates things a bit, doesn’t it, sir?” he said, turning to Jago. “I mean, if we were right and it really was Cooper who killed Villiers, that would mean now our murderer’s been murdered.”
“Very good, Peter,” said Jago. “Those who live by the sword shall perish by the sword. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. But the question remains, as you so rightly say: if Cooper did murder Villiers, who’s killed Cooper, and why?”
“Could it be revenge?” said Cradock.
“You’re very keen on revenge, aren’t you?” said Jago. “There are other reasons why people kill each other, you know.”
“Yes, I know, sir, but surely it could be? You know, someone close to Villiers, perhaps, who knew Cooper had killed him and wanted to settle the score?”
“Someone in the family? It’s possible. And I must admit it’s only recently that Cooper has displaced them in my suspicions. But if the rest of the family had their own various reasons for wanting Villiers dead, why would they want to take revenge if someone else turned up
and saved them the trouble?”
Cradock had come to the end of his reasoning skills for the time being.
“Search me,” he said.
“Well, the first thing we need to do is get the police surgeon to take a look before another air raid starts. See if there’s a phone in here somewhere, and if you can’t find one, leg it down the road to the nearest phone box or police pillar that hasn’t been blown to pieces and call the station.”
“Right-oh, sir.”
Cradock began to search the room for a telephone. He was about to move on into the corridor when a whooshing sound, like a sudden gust of wind, filled the air. It was followed immediately by a fierce noise of crackling and spitting.
“Fire, sir!” he shouted.
Smoke began to billow into the room.
“Quick! Come over here and help me get this body to the door,” said Jago.
“I think that’s where the fire’s coming from, sir: we can’t go that way. Do you think it’s an incendiary bomb?”
“No, I don’t. There’s been no noise out there. No sirens yet, no planes. It sounded more like petrol going up. I just hope Cooper hasn’t got any more in here. Now come and help me. I’m not going to lose a second body in a week.”
As Cradock stumbled across the room towards him Jago grabbed the typewriter with both hands and hauled it off the bench. He took a couple of steps, leaning back to balance its weight, and hurled it through the window. In an explosion of glass and splinters of wood their escape route was opened.
Jago knew there was no hope of saving his coat this time. He quickly pulled it off and folded it in half, then draped it over the bottom of the window frame, knocking out the larger remaining fragments of glass as he did.
“You first,” he shouted to Cradock.
The younger man climbed out through the window. Jago hauled the body up and planted its head and shoulders in the opening, and together they pushed and pulled it through. Jago was coughing as the smoke got to him.
“Give me a hand,” he said. “Quick.”
Cradock took one of Jago’s hands as the inspector scrambled onto the window sill, and half dragged him out. They both collapsed onto the cobbled yard and breathed the cool air deeply.
Jago struggled to his feet and grabbed his coat from the sill.
“We need to get him away from the building. Come on!”
They dragged the body clear to what Jago thought was a safe distance, and stopped for breath again. Cradock began to wander away.
“Where are you going, man?” said Jago.
“Just over here, guv’nor. Look: that’s a bit strange.”
“What is?”
“These crates, sir. They seem to have fallen down while we were in there. They were all stacked up when we arrived. I didn’t hear anything, though; it must have happened after that fire started.”
Jago joined him.
“Give me that lamp.”
He took another couple of steps forward and shone the lamp into the space behind the crates.
“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here?”
In the dim pool of light before him he saw a figure dressed in dungarees and a woollen hat crouching among the fallen crates. But no face: whoever it was turned quickly away. Like a child playing hide and seek who thinks if it closes its eyes no one will see it, thought Jago. There was a second figure lying motionless on the ground: a young-looking man, heavily built. Blood was seeping from his hairline and down onto his cheek. He began to stir, clutching his head.
“What’s this, then?” said Jago. “What happened to your friend?”
“He’s not my friend. I think he was knocked out by one of these boxes,” said the would-be invisible man, turning round but not looking up.
The voice that Jago heard was not what he had been expecting.
“You’re a woman,” he said.
“Of course I’m a woman.”
Jago was immediately conscious that his comment must have sounded inane, but given her presence at the scene of the fire he was in no mood for polite apologies.
“And what are you doing here?”
“None of your business.”
“If I were to invite you to accompany me to the police station to continue this conversation, would that make it my business?”
“Police?” she said. “Oh, God.”
She pulled the hat off and shook out her hair.
Cradock gasped.
“It’s her, sir.”
“Who?”
“Mrs Hodgson. You remember: there was that man who got roughed up in the cemetery. This is his wife. I met her Monday evening. What on earth’s she doing here?”
Before Jago could speak, he heard wellington boots slapping hurriedly across the cobblestones in their direction. The warden stopped beside them. He looked first at the fire, then at Cradock.
“Oh, it’s you again. You’re that constable who was asking about the van here, aren’t you? What’s all this about? We’ve had enough fires round here from the Germans, without people starting their own. Have you reported it yet?”
Jago stepped forward.
“I’m Detective Inspector Jago. We’ve got a dead body here and this is a police investigation. We need your assistance.”
“Fair enough,” said the warden. “Whatever you say. As long as the Luftwaffe doesn’t turn up again.”
“Listen, we’ve only just got out of that building, so please find a telephone and call the fire brigade as quickly as you can. And ring the police: tell them Detective Inspector Jago says get the police surgeon down here as soon as possible.”
“Will do,” said the warden, and strode away into the darkness.
“Peter,” said Jago, “I want you to stay here and wait for the doctor.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jago turned the lamp back onto the couple on the ground.
“And as for you two, I’m arresting you on suspicion of setting fire to these premises. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you say may be given in evidence.”
The young man was sitting up now, rubbing his head, but still had not said anything. Jago studied him for a moment and then turned to Cradock.
“Well,” he said quietly, “I may not have had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Hodgson before, but this young man I do recognize: it’s rabbit-face.”
CHAPTER 24
“I remind you that you are still under caution.”
Jago contemplated the expression of the woman sitting before him in the interview room at West Ham police station. In the car she had maintained that she knew nothing about Cooper and declined to explain why she had been on his premises, but as soon as she’d crossed the threshold of the station her air of confidence had evaporated. He’d kept her waiting until Cradock returned and told him the police surgeon’s verdict: estimated time of death between 4 and 5 p.m. Now she was slumped on the chair, her face despondent. She looked as if she was fighting back tears.
“I’m a law-abiding citizen,” she said. “My husband is a civil servant.”
“That’s as may be, Mrs Hodgson, but I want to know this: did you kill Frederick Cooper?”
“No, I’ve never met him. Why on earth would I want to kill someone I don’t know?”
“Why would you want to go creeping around his property after dark, either? That’s not everyone’s idea of law-abiding. Now look, Mrs Hodgson, it’s late and I’m tired. I’ve got a dead body, and the only other people on the scene are you and that young man. You can either tell me what happened or we can spend the rest of the night here until you do.”
She sighed, then sat up straighter on her chair and looked at him.
“All right. It’s true that I’ve never met Cooper, but I’ve seen him and I know who he is. Who he was, rather. It’s my husband who knows him, although he wishes their paths had never crossed. Sidney works for the Ministry of Labour and National Service, at the Labour Exchange.”
She paused. It seemed to Jago that she thought h
e would take these words as primary evidence of her husband’s probity.
“He’s a good man, Inspector, but he’s not very strong, and somehow he got tangled up with Cooper. I think it was something to do with money. Sidney doesn’t earn as much as he’d like to, and I think he’s felt for a long time that he’s letting me down. Perhaps that’s why he let himself be bullied into doing it.”
“Doing what, Mrs Hodgson? He wasn’t stealing national identity cards, was he?”
She looked puzzled.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then what was it?”
“It was something to do with call-up papers. Cooper would give my husband certain names, and when their call-up papers came through, Sidney had to lose them.”
“Lose them?”
“Make sure they were never delivered to the person in question, so they wouldn’t get called up for the forces. I believe all sorts of papers get lost in the Civil Service, and no one ever does anything about it. I assume people were paying Cooper to ensure they or their loved ones could avoid conscription. He paid Sidney a small sum to see to it that the papers disappeared. That was Sidney’s big mistake, of course. Once he’d taken the money, Cooper could blackmail him, and so he had to do whatever he was told.”
“Or face the consequences.”
“Exactly, and facing consequences is not one of my husband’s strengths. He tried to get out of it, but he was trapped.”
“It was Cooper who beat up your husband in the cemetery?”
“Yes, that’s what Sidney said.”
“So how did you end up at Cooper’s premises tonight? He was a dangerous man, by all accounts.”
“You may think women are the weaker sex, Inspector, but we’re not. That man was destroying my husband’s life and our marriage. I was not prepared to stand by and watch it happen.”
Jago was inclined to believe this. I’ve probably seen more strong women than you’ve had hot dinners, he thought to himself. He remembered the street fights he’d run into when he was a young constable in uniform, the big women with arms like hams who’d been thrown out of a pub and slogged it out with fists in the street until one of them went down. They didn’t seem to make women like that any more. He doubted whether Mrs Hodgson had ever visited streets like that.
