by Mike Hollow
He clamped his hands over his ears as the guns just across the park joined in. Within seconds, the bombs began to fall. They were still landing some way to the south of the park, but it looked as though they were getting close, just the other side of the railway line. Now it was definitely time to run. He set off as fast as he could, wishing he had brought his tin helmet as he heard shrapnel from the anti-aircraft shells landing on the paths. When he reached the long sloping entrance to the trench shelter he ran down it and threw himself into the narrow refuge. Inside it was stinking, muddy, and waterlogged, but by now he didn’t care.
CHAPTER 39
When it got to about a quarter past one Cradock thought he had done enough work to deserve a bite of lunch. It was his habit to come in for a while on Sundays whenever he could, mainly because the cook at the section house didn’t work at weekends. Unpaid overtime was part of the job, but the extra hours were well worth it if it meant he could get lunch at the station. The canteen was quiet, and as he walked in he could see PC Stannard alone at a table on the far side of the room. He got his tray of food and walked across to where the uniformed constable was sitting.
“Afternoon, Ray,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Hello, mate,” said Stannard. “Make yourself at home.”
“How’s tricks?” said Cradock, taking his seat.
“Not too bad today. Just popped in for lunch, have you?”
“Course not. I’m still working on that murder case.”
“Ah, yes. You and DI Jago. How are you getting on with him?”
“So so, I suppose. He’s a funny old stick at times, though.”
“Probably thinks the same of you. Mind you, I expect he can teach you a thing or two.”
Cradock began to eat his lunch. It was meat and two veg – just the way he liked it.
“You’re right there,” he said. “He seems to know everything. Trouble is, sometimes he seems to expect me to know everything too, as if I’d been in the job for twenty years like him. I think he ought to make allowances.”
“Perhaps he is. He probably thinks he’s being soft on you. I reckon they had it far worse when he was starting out. The way the old ’uns talk about those days, it makes your toes curl. You should hear the stories Frank Tompkins tells.”
“Yes, I’ve heard some of Frank’s stories. It’s like being a kid again and listening to your grandad.”
“So what does that make the DI? Your dad?”
“It feels like that sometimes.”
“Well, you could do far worse. How’s the case going? Getting close to an arrest?”
“I can’t say I know, really. We don’t seem to be getting very far. Which reminds me: have you come across a bloke called Bob Gray?”
Stannard thought for a moment and shook his head.
“No, can’t say I have. Why, what’s he done?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out,” said Cradock. “He lives down Prince Regent Lane and we’ve found out he’s got himself a false identity card for some reason. It seems his real name’s Coates, but we haven’t had that from him yet. Do either of those names mean anything to you?”
Stannard shook his head again, his mouth full of food.
Cradock continued.
“We need to find out why he’s decided to change his identity. DI Jago went looking for him on Friday but didn’t find him, so I’m thinking we’ll need to go back tomorrow and see whether he’ll own up. It must mean he’s been up to no good, got something to hide.”
“Not necessarily,” said Stannard. “Supposing your name was Crippen, or Hitler. You’d want to change it then, wouldn’t you? It could be a family thing. Have you checked the records?”
“Yes. There’s no record of any convictions for either name round here, but then again we don’t know how long he’s lived here.”
“Maybe you should ask Frank, then. He’s got records back to the year dot in his head. How old’s this Gray?”
“Early twenties, I should think.”
“If he’s from round these parts, then old Frank might have had a run in with him when he was a nipper.”
“A clip round the ear, you mean?”
“Yes. Frank’s a proper old-time copper, isn’t he? Learned his stuff when they knew how to get the job done. Put your boy Gray in a cell with Frank or one of his mates in those days and they’d soon have found out what you wanted to know. Not like now.”
There had been a time when Cradock would argue with Stannard, but now he tried not to take the bait. Ray was an old pal, and it wasn’t worth annoying him by disagreeing. He busied himself by shovelling a forkful of sliced carrot into his mouth and made that his excuse not to speak. He chewed in silence, then nodded slowly.
“Good idea,” he said. “I’ll go and pick his brains when I’ve finished my lunch.”
Cradock fully intended to talk to Sergeant Tompkins, but his plan was cut short by the air-raid siren. At first he stayed at his desk, but when the anti-aircraft guns opened up and he heard the thud of bombs, he took his work down into the basement shelter. At last the all-clear sounded. He climbed the steps back up to the ground floor and made his way to the front desk. Tompkins was standing behind the counter as usual.
“Afternoon, Sarge,” said Cradock. “You still here?”
“Someone’s got to do their duty, lad. We can’t have the front door open and the desk unmanned when there’s an air raid on, can we?”
“You won’t be much use to the public if you’re blown to bits, though, will you?”
“That’s highly unlikely, unless we get a big one on the roof or straight down the chimney. And if that happens I don’t think any of us’ll know much about it. A little bit of noise doesn’t bother me. The lads in Flanders used to say you never hear the shell that kills you, so if you hear it, you’re safe.”
Cradock looked at him for a moment with a puzzled expression.
“But how would you know that’s true? The only person who could tell you he hadn’t heard it would be the one who was killed. So only dead people could prove it was right.”
Tompkins gave him a look of perplexed pity.
“You’ll just have to take my word for it, then, Detective Constable. Trust me.”
Cradock was about to ask him about Gray when the phone rang. Tompkins turned away to answer it.
“I’ll come back later,” said Cradock, beginning to walk away.
The station sergeant acknowledged him with a wave of the hand and spoke into the mouthpiece.
“I’m sorry. He’s not in… Can I take a message?… Yes, I see… I’m expecting him back shortly… Yes, yes, of course… Would you like me to send a constable round?… Hello?”
Tompkins clamped his free hand over the mouthpiece and shouted after Cradock.
“DC Cradock, you’d better come back and speak to this lady.”
Cradock turned round and hurried back to the desk. He put out his hand to take the handset.
“Ah,” said Tompkins. “Too late. She’s hung up.”
“What was that all about?” said Cradock.
“I couldn’t get much sense out of her. She wanted to speak to your guv’nor.”
Tompkins’ eyes shifted slightly as he looked over Cradock’s shoulder, towards the front entrance door.
“Ah, there you are, sir,” he said. “I was getting worried about you out there in the middle of a raid.”
Cradock followed Tompkins’ eyes and saw Jago striding in through the front door, dishevelled but apparently unharmed. He must have heard all the shells, he thought.
“I was fine, Frank,” said Jago. “I was over in the park having a sandwich. I had to use the trench shelter, but nothing came near anyway. Most of what they dropped seemed to fall south of the railway line, and as soon as they’d offloaded their bombs they turned away.”
“You’ve just missed a call, sir,” said Tompkins. “It sounded urgent. It was a lady called Mrs Cooper. She said she wanted to speak to you.”
>
“Did she say what it was about?”
“I couldn’t get much out of her. She was very agitated. She said someone had phoned her and said she’s been giving the police information about her husband’s business affairs that she shouldn’t have. Whoever it was warned her not to say anything more. That’s why she’s frightened: she thinks something’s going to happen to her. I offered to send a constable round, but she just rang off, as if she hadn’t even heard what I was saying.”
“And this was just a few minutes ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right, give me the phone book.”
Tompkins reached under the desk for the telephone directory and handed it to Jago, who quickly found Mrs Cooper’s number and called her. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk until he heard a woman’s voice answer.
“Mrs Cooper?” he said. Cradock and Tompkins listened to his end of the conversation.
“Detective Inspector Jago here. I’ve just heard that you… Yes… How can I?… I see… Yes, I understand… Don’t worry, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
He slammed the handset back on the telephone’s cradle and turned to Cradock.
“Right. Drop whatever you’re doing and come with me. This sounds like an emergency.”
CHAPTER 40
Jago raced for his car, with Cradock close beside him. It was unlocked, and he slipped in smoothly behind the wheel. As Cradock was getting into the passenger seat, Jago turned the ignition key, retarded the ignition and pushed the starter button. The engine came to life with a throaty roar. He pulled away immediately, changing gear rapidly upwards as the car built up speed.
“What did she say?” said Cradock, raising his voice and gripping the top of the door as the Riley bumped along the road.
Jago kept his eyes fixed to the front and shouted to Cradock without turning his head.
“She was telling me what she’d already told Tompkins, about someone phoning her and threatening her. Then she said she’d seen two men in her back garden.”
“What – still there?”
“Yes, she said she could see them, and she was frightened. Then before I could get any more out of her she screamed and put the phone down. I think she’s in danger.”
He braked as the road took a sharp turn to the right, then forced the car back up to speed.
“And this morning, sir – did you find out what you wanted to?”
“Some of it, yes. I saw Edward Villiers. He came clean, up to a point.”
“So did Cooper make sure Edward’s call-up papers got lost? Was that the link between Cooper and his dad?”
“No, he said it wasn’t like that.”
“But it’s there in Cooper’s book: money from Villiers.”
“He didn’t deny there was a fiddle going on,” said Jago, “but it was a different fiddle. He says Cooper arranged for a doctor to sign a medical discharge form for him. Says he wanted to join up, but it was his dad who was against it. He said it was his dad’s idea and his dad who put Cooper up to it. Not what you’d expect of an officer and gentleman, eh?”
“That doesn’t put Edward in the clear, though, does it? Not if he used that form.”
“No. He said he didn’t know whether it was forged or stolen, but he obviously knew it was falsified. That young man’s still got a lot of explaining to do.”
Jago slowed down behind an elderly van that was lumbering down the street, then with a sharp turn of the wheel he threw the car into the middle of the road to overtake it. He was thankful it was a Sunday afternoon and they weren’t running into too much traffic.
“How about you? Have you made any progress?” he said, raising his voice again as he accelerated.
“Not much,” said Cradock. “I think we need to track down Bob Gray tomorrow – find out why he got that identity card.”
“Agreed.”
“And there’s something else that’s been bothering me.”
“What’s that?”
“It was something Hodgson said on Friday. It didn’t tally with what his wife said. When you questioned her, she said Edgar Simpson had got mixed up with Cooper over something to do with gambling, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Which is more or less the same as what Simpson told me. So she said it was gambling, but then her husband said it was because of some moral issue in Simpson’s personal life. They can’t both be right.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Jago. “We’ll need to talk to Simpson tomorrow and see if he’s got anything more to say.”
“And another thing: I checked Cooper’s book again and there was no mention of Simpson in it. If Cooper did know some secret of Simpson’s and was blackmailing him, surely there’d be a record of payments received in it. Cooper seemed to be quite thorough with his records, didn’t he? Regular little book-keeper, he was.”
“Yes, but maybe that’s the point. That book was all about money. That’s usually what blackmailers are after, but not always. Maybe in Simpson’s case Cooper wanted payment in kind.”
The car slowed a little as the road rose to cross over the District Line railway that ran from east to west across the borough, then picked up speed again as it went down on the other side. A hundred and fifty yards farther on he turned left into a side street.
“Hold on!” he shouted. He slammed on the brakes. Cradock braced his hands against the dashboard to stop himself flying forward into the windscreen. The car swerved. Ahead of them they saw the smoking ruins of a house.
“I should have thought,” said Jago, banging his fist on the steering wheel. “I was pretty sure the bombs were coming down on this side of the railway line, and I was right. I should have realized we’d run into trouble getting to Cooper’s house.”
A heavy rescue party was shifting wooden joists and rafters from the site and pulling away bricks. Their truck was parked in the road, and there was no way through.
“There must be someone under that lot,” said Cradock.
“Yes, but they don’t need help from us. I’m worried about what might be happening to Mrs Cooper. We’ve got to get there fast.”
He selected reverse gear and flung the car backwards towards the kerb, then forward again to turn it round. It meant taking a longer route, but there was no alternative.
“Come along, you brute,” he said to the car, and headed back at full speed the way they had come until he found a way round the blocked road. His eyes were stinging from the acrid smoke. He had to slow down twice more as they came across firemen fighting blazes where the bombs had fallen, but then suddenly they were through the chaos and into clean air. Four minutes later they were in Barking Road. He parked a little short of Mrs Cooper’s house so as not to be visible from it.
He pulled on the handbrake.
“Back garden,” he said. “We’ll go down that alleyway there and see if we can get into her garden – see what’s going on.”
The two men dashed down the alleyway and found a path leading along the end of the houses’ back gardens. They counted the houses and slowed to a quiet prowl as they reached their target.
Jago eased open a wooden gate and peered in. There was no one in the garden.
“Either they’ve gone, or they’re inside the house,” said Jago. “Follow me.”
He crept along the garden path. Cradock fell in line behind him, keeping a careful eye out for movement in the bushes. They got as far as the back of the house without seeing anyone. Jago pointed to the back door. The glass by the handle had been smashed. He gently eased the handle down and the door opened without a creak. They were in.
From the kitchen they could hear voices coming from the living room at the front of the house.
“Sounds like two men and one woman,” whispered Cradock.
“Yes,” murmured Jago. “Let’s go and give them a surprise.”
They crept down the hallway and halted by the living room door. Jago gently turned the handle and stepped into the room.
“My, my,” said Jago. “What have we here?”
Across the room he could see Mrs Cooper, backed into a corner as if willing the wall to open up and swallow her. The two men with their backs to him whirled round, their faces reflecting a surprise that quickly gave way to wariness. The shorter of the pair began to advance unsteadily across the room, a hip flask in his right hand. Jago glanced back over his shoulder to check: yes, Cradock had already placed himself squarely in front of the closed door. There was no other way out.
He looked each man in the eye in turn and shook his head.
“No. Don’t even think about it. You’re not going anywhere until I say so. I’ve got a few questions for you, so I suggest we all take a seat and have a little chat.”
The unsteady man glared at him and slumped awkwardly into an armchair. The other said nothing, but took a chair facing his companion across a low wooden coffee table.
Jago addressed the man with the hip flask first.
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”
Cradock stepped forward and said into Jago’s ear, “It’s Gray, sir.”
“Ah, Mr Gray,” said Jago. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for some time. I see you’ve brought your own refreshments.”
Gray looked down at the flask in his hand.
“Just a little drink. No harm in that.”
Jago turned to the other man. “And how nice to see you again, Mr Johnson. I know that you and Mr Gray are friends, but I didn’t know you were acquainted with Mrs Cooper. Perhaps one of you would like to tell me what you’re doing here.”
Johnson spoke first.
“Just a social call, Inspector. We were just about to leave, weren’t we?” He turned to Gray, who nodded.
Mrs Cooper moved forward from the corner of the room for the first time and looked imploringly at Jago.
