by Mike Hollow
“You weren’t just going to stand by. So what did you do?”
“I decided the best way to deal with a blackmailer was to give him a dose of his own medicine.”
“Fight fire with fire?”
She gave him a cold look.
“If necessary, yes.”
“So then what?”
“I wrote him a letter, anonymously of course, to the effect that I knew what he was up to with the call-up papers, and if he didn’t stop he’d suffer for it.”
“I trust you didn’t include your address for his reply.”
“Of course not. I gave him a deadline and waited to see whether he would stop putting pressure on Sidney. That way I’d know whether he was taking notice. If he didn’t, I’d take some action that would make him realize the threat was real.”
“And did he stop?”
“No, he carried on in exactly the same way.”
“So you took that action tonight. You murdered him.”
“No, I’ve told you already: I didn’t do that.”
“What did you do?”
“I found out about this place and decided to start a little fire. I put some petrol in one of my preserving jars and brought it with me. I reckoned it wouldn’t take much to get it going, as long as I put it on a door or something else made of wood.”
“That was a very foolhardy thing to do.”
“I know that now, but at the time I didn’t have many options at my disposal.”
“And where does that other fellow come into it – the one who was with you?”
“Where is he? What have you done with him?”
“Don’t you worry about him. We’ve put a dressing on him and now he’s having a little chat with my colleague. Tell me about him.”
“There’s not a lot to say, really. He’s Edgar, Edgar Simpson. It’s nothing to do with him, really. He’s a clerk who works with my husband, and he’d got mixed up with Cooper too – something to do with gambling, I believe. I needed someone else with me in case anything went wrong, and I couldn’t risk bringing Sidney. So I enlisted Edgar. It wasn’t difficult to persuade him. I was quite surprised at how willing he was. But then as soon as the fire was going we saw you two climbing out, and the fool ran off – straight into that pile of boxes. He brought them crashing down on us and knocked himself out. I would have done better to work on my own.”
Jago was beginning to believe her.
“But it didn’t occur to you there might be someone in the building you were about to set fire to? You didn’t knock on the door?”
“How could I knock on the door? Supposing Cooper or one of his cronies had come to open it? What would I have said? ‘Good evening, I’m Mrs Hodgson. I’ve just come round to see if I can borrow a cup of sugar’? No, I had to take a chance on that. I reckoned a man like him would probably be out drinking in a pub at that time of the evening, and if he was in, well, he’d have to take his chances.”
“What time did you arrive at Cooper’s premises?” said Jago.
“About ten minutes before you and your colleague unfortunately found us.”
“And can you account for your movements before that?”
“Yes, I was at a WVS meeting in Kensington all day. I got home just before six o’clock, made our supper, we ate, and then I got changed and came down here.”
“Can anyone vouch for your being at that meeting?”
“Yes, about two dozen WVS members. No one left until the meeting finished, which was at four thirty. And while we’re on the subject, I think you’ll find that Mr Simpson was at work all day at the Labour Exchange, as was my husband.”
“In that case, that will be all. I think you’re the one who’s taken a few too many chances this evening, Mrs Hodgson. Arson is a serious offence.”
“Wait a minute. Isn’t this a little ridiculous? The Germans have been dropping incendiary bombs all over West Ham, and every other building around the docks has been blown up or burned down, but you want to send me to court for one little fire?”
“Mrs Hodgson, if it were within my power to go up there and arrest the Luftwaffe on suspicion of offences under the Malicious Damage Act 1861, that’s what I would do, but unfortunately I cannot. Here on the ground, however, setting fire to buildings is a felony within the meaning of that Act, so you will be charged. You can count yourself lucky not to be charged with murder.”
CHAPTER 25
“By the way, sir, why did you say ‘It’s rabbit-face’ when you saw that Edgar Simpson fellow?” said Cradock. “Did you know him already?”
“No,” said Jago. “I didn’t know him. At least, I didn’t know his name and I’d never spoken to him, but I’d seen him once. It was when we were at Rita’s café last Saturday afternoon. He was the man with Cooper. He looked pretty scared, and now we know why. If Mrs Hodgson’s right and he’d got mixed up with Cooper’s little racket too, that would explain why they were together there and why he looked like a scared rabbit. People like him aren’t cut out for negotiating deals with criminals, and he’d probably realized too late that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. What did he say when you interviewed him?”
“Basically he said the same as she did, with a bit more detail. Fancies himself as a card player, it seems, but picked the wrong people to play with. He got sucked into Cooper’s circle when he found himself getting into debt with people who weren’t inclined to wait for their money. He’s not giving any names, of course: too scared. Apart from that, he’s all politeness; says he realizes he’s made mistakes and learned his lessons. Says he’ll be a reformed character from now on.”
“I wonder. Sometimes that’s easier said than done.”
“Yes, fair words butter no turnips, as my mother used to say.”
“Parsnips, Peter.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Parsnips. You don’t butter turnips, you butter parsnips. Nobody butters turnips. Your mother was wrong, or you weren’t listening carefully.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry, sir.”
“So what else did Simpson say?”
“Nothing of interest, really. It seems Mrs Hodgson was the brains of the operation. He says she provided the petrol and he just did what he was told. His intention was simply to do what she wanted and then get out of it as soon as he could, which is what he seems to have done, or tried to anyway.”
“Very good,” said Jago. “Now we must go and break the bad news to Cooper’s wife – if bad news is what it is.”
“We’ll need to ask you to come to the mortuary to identify the body,” said Jago, sitting in the Coopers’ comfortable living room. “But we’ve no doubt it’s him.”
She had taken the news very calmly. Surprisingly calmly, for a woman being told that her husband had met a violent death. There was no weeping, no sign of grief. Jago had pressed her.
“This must be a shock for you. Do you know of any reason why someone might want to kill your husband?”
Her face had been blank.
“There are so many people getting killed these days, Inspector. Good people. People who’ve never done any harm to anyone. That’s what’s shocking.”
“And your husband?”
“All I’m saying is I’m not surprised he’s come to a sticky end. He wasn’t a nice man, not the man I thought he was when I married him. But we all make mistakes, I suppose. He was mixed up in lots of dodgy business – you know, a bit of this, a bit of that, none of it strictly above board. He was clever, though: knew how to cover his tracks. Never had any trouble with the law, as far as I know. We’ve certainly never had your lot at the door before. I don’t know exactly what he got up to, but I reckon he was always sailing close to the wind. I wouldn’t have minded, but he could get violent too. It didn’t pay to cross him.”
“Was he ever violent towards you?”
“I could tell you stories, believe you me. But yes, he knocked me about a few times. Seemed to enjoy it too. I’d be lying if I told you I’ll be shedding tea
rs now he’s gone. You can’t help thinking the world’ll be a better place without some people. What more can I say?”
It had been Jago’s duty on many occasions to break the news of a death to husbands, wives, parents, even children, but he had rarely come across a woman who took it in her stride in such a matter-of-fact way. If anything, she looked relieved. But if what she was saying about her husband was true, it was perhaps not surprising.
“Tell me more about your husband,” he said. “What was his background?”
“Well, he was local. Not actually born here, but he’s lived in Plaistow all his life. His mother – Lily, she was called –”
She hesitated, then continued.
“She moved here when he was a baby. She was from south of the river originally, and she’d had a tough time growing up. I don’t think it got any better when she married, either.”
“Is that why Mrs Cooper moved here?”
“I think so. I think she liked it better here. Of course she wasn’t Mrs Cooper then; she was still Lily Cordwell when she moved here with the baby.”
“So she was an unmarried mother, then. Is that why she moved?”
Her expression lightened for a moment, and she laughed.
“No, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there, Inspector. It was the other way round. She was married all right when she had the baby: she was Mrs Lily Cordwell. She lived over in Custom House, by the docks. That’s where her husband was from. But when she moved here she started using her maiden name again – and that was Cooper. Of course, she kept her wedding ring on and called herself Mrs, so everyone called her Mrs Cooper.”
“Do you know why she didn’t want to use her husband’s name?”
“Not really, no. She died quite a few years ago and never told me what it was all about. I’ve always assumed it was some funny business with her husband, else why would she go back to her old name? I never met him, though. He died in the Great War, and I think it was then that she moved to Plaistow for a new start. She got herself work as a barmaid at the Coach and Horses. I suppose someone looked after the baby while she was working, but she didn’t earn much. It must have been a struggle for her to make ends meet.”
“So your husband had a difficult upbringing?”
“Well, I didn’t know him when he was growing up, but I imagine it was hard for him. He used to say he’d had to fight for everything he had, and I suppose that’s what turned him nasty.”
“What was his education?”
“He told me he went to North Street School, but he didn’t like it. Left when he was fourteen and went to work as a barrow boy, selling fruit and veg. He made a bit of money at that, and then set himself up on the market, trading things that would make him a bit more money. I was seventeen when I met him. Real charmer, he was. Well, not to everyone, maybe, but he certainly charmed me.”
She fell silent, and for a moment Jago thought he could see a hint of tenderness in her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Anyway, it was only after we got hitched that I found out what he was really up to. I was pretty sure some of the stuff he was flogging wasn’t strictly kosher, if you know what I mean. Fallen off the back of a lorry, more like.”
“So you’re saying he was dealing in stolen goods?”
“Well, I wouldn’t like to say. I mean, I couldn’t prove it. It just seemed to me a bit suspicious that he could get hold of all this stuff so cheap. He made enough money to buy this house and he always seemed to have plenty of cash, but I never had any idea how he got it. He didn’t seem to keep any books either, so Lord knows if he ever paid any taxes.”
Jago was beginning to form quite a detailed picture of Cooper in his mind, and was surprised that the man appeared to have had no criminal convictions. He must have been a clever operator, he thought, or perhaps just very lucky – until yesterday.
“Is there anything else you’ve noticed of late that you would regard as suspicious?” he said.
“No, not really. There was just one thing today that was a bit odd. I saw a man outside on the street, a fat little bloke. I didn’t know him, but he seemed to be hanging around. I did wonder at the time whether it might be something to do with Fred, but until you asked I’d thought no more of it.”
“I see. I was thinking more of anything else suspicious in your husband’s business dealings – people he met, something he might have said, for example. Anything at all that might shed light on how he was making this money you mentioned. You’re not required by the law to disclose anything he may have told you during your marriage, but if you’re willing to tell me about anything relevant that you may recall, I would be grateful.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“It’s no skin off my nose, Inspector. He’s dead now, and he can’t get me, and there’s no children to be shamed by him. He was a bad man, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“Did he ever mention anything about dealing in documents of any kind?”
“What kind of documents?”
“I’m thinking of official documents – things like fake identity cards, for example.”
She shook her head slowly.
“No. Never heard him mention anything like that. But like I said, he didn’t take me into his confidence.”
She stared into the fireplace in thought for a few moments, then looked up.
“It would make sense, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just something he said the other day. I was saying how terrible it is to be having this war, but he said something like if you play your cards right there’s money to be made out of it. I said we’re all supposed to be doing our duty, not making money, and he said not everyone thinks the same way about duty. He said people would pay good money to dodge their duty, and there were some nice little rackets going on to make sure they could. He said he had no plans to be a soldier himself, either.”
“Did he say what these rackets were?”
“No, but I suppose it must’ve been something to do with dodging the call-up, don’t you think?”
“Quite possibly,” said Jago.
He stood up, and was followed by Cradock.
“Before we go,” he said, “did your husband ever mention any names in connection with his business activities?”
“His rackets, you mean.”
“If you like, yes. Names of people he might have had dealings with.”
“No. Like I said, he never let on about anything like that. Kept it all to himself.”
She got out of her chair.
“There is one thing, though. Come with me.”
Jago and Cradock followed her out into the hallway. She led them to a small room at the back of the house.
“This is what my husband liked to call his study. I saw him in here once or twice writing in a book, but if ever I came in he’d put it in there and lock it in that old thing. Then he’d give me one of his looks, and I knew it’d be more than my life’s worth to try and have a look.”
She pointed into the far corner of the room, where Jago recognized a mid-Victorian mahogany roll-top bureau.
“A fine piece,” he said.
“Old junk, if you ask me,” she said. “I like something a bit more modern. But anyway, I reckon there’s some secrets in there. It’s bound to be locked, but you can force it for all I care.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Mrs Cooper,” said Jago. “DC Cradock, have you got those keys on you?”
Cradock took an envelope from his pocket and took out Cooper’s bunch of keys.
“Here they are, sir.”
“See if one of them fits that bureau. It’ll be one of the smaller ones.”
Cradock tried three keys without success, but the fourth produced a quiet click and he was able to roll up the lid of the bureau.
“There it is,” said Mrs Cooper. “It’s that black one on the right-hand side.”
Jago reached into one of the vertical pigeon-holes
set into the upper part of the bureau and lifted out a small leather-bound notebook. He flipped through the pages and then handed it to Cradock.
“Looks like a lot of notes in there. You can take a look through it this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cradock, putting the book into his pocket.
Jago turned to Mrs Cooper.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs Cooper. We’ll be off now, and we shall have to take this notebook with us.”
“You take it,” she said, “and if it helps you to track down a few more crooks, that’s fine by me. I don’t even want to look. I don’t want to know what he did. It might seem a wicked thing to say, but I’m glad to be rid of him. I think maybe I’m starting to feel like his mum did about her old man: now he’s gone, I want to start all over again.”
CHAPTER 26
“What kind of police car is this?” said Dorothy, standing back and examining the vehicle from end to end. She had emerged from Plaistow tube station to be met by Jago, who walked her the short distance round the corner to where he had parked. “I thought you’d have something black with a bell on it.”
“No such luck, I’m afraid. The Metropolitan Police doesn’t have enough cars to go round at the best of times, still less in wartime, so people like me have to use their own.”
“How cute. No one can say this country isn’t original. I just came about a dozen stops on the District Line, with a map that says it’s an underground railway, but half of it wasn’t underground at all: it was just like a regular train.”
“And now a police car that’s just what you’d call a regular car. Did you see the damage at West Ham as you came through?”
“Yes, the train didn’t stop. They said the station was closed because of the bombing. When did that happen?”
