Dead of Winter jm-3

by Rennie Airth

  ‘I remember that …’ Madden nodded his head in recollection. ‘We heard about it. But there were no charges pressed.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t expect any, would you, not with Seamus Slattery. But you can imagine how it looked. There was him saying it was his manor and nobody was allowed to step out of line, and there was Jonah tossing his blokes out of windows. It couldn’t be allowed to go on.’

  Nelly bit her lip.

  ‘Course, what would have happened normally was he would have sent some of his fellers round with orders to make a right mess of Jonah. But they’d already tried that, and each time he was given a seeing to he’d find the blokes who’d done it later on and give it back to them, only worse. So Seamus decided enough was enough and one night when they were all at the old Ship’s Bell, which was the pub they used, he laid a hundred quid in notes on the table and said it was for whoever got rid of Jonah for him.’

  ‘He wanted him killed?’

  ‘He never used the word, according to Charlie — though Charlie wasn’t there — but everyone understood what he meant. And it seems the news got out. I didn’t hear it, but some must have, because by Charlie’s account there were bookies taking bets on how long Jonah would last, while others were offering odds on him turning the tables on Seamus and topping him. But less than a week later, while people were still thinking about it, Jonah’s body turned up in that tank.’

  Madden grunted. ‘I was there that morning. At the soap factory. We’d heard about him getting drunk the night before and staggering off home. The detectives were already thinking it was most likely an accident. What really happened?’

  Nelly gave a sigh.

  ‘What happened was that Seamus and his lot were sitting in the back room of the Ship’s Bell around lunchtime drinking toasts or what have you to the news when Vera’s Ray shows up and says he’s come to claim his hundred quid. Well, of course they just laugh at him, but then he tells them he’s got proof, and before they know it he’s pulled out a set of false teeth with a nick in one of them from his pocket and dropped it on the table in front of Seamus. “There you are,” he says. “That’s your proof.”’

  ‘Jonah’s missing bridge?’ Madden shook his head. ‘We noticed it was gone. We thought it must have fallen out of his mouth and sunk to the bottom of the tank. And I remember now — one of the teeth was chipped.’

  ‘You’d run into him, had you?’ Nelly was curious.

  ‘Several times. Twice to break up disturbances in pubs.’ Madden laughed. ‘I used to look at him and hope to heaven he wouldn’t take it into his head to have a go at me. He was a big brute and he had hands like shovels. All of which makes me wonder …’

  ‘Wonder what?’

  ‘How that boy got the better of him. Did Charlie tell you that?’

  Nelly nodded. She paused to refill their cups.

  ‘The bloke he’d got the story from had been in the Ship’s Bell that day and had heard what Ray had to say for himself. Seems he’d learned about the hundred quid and come over from Romford. Either he knew where Jonah would be drinking or he followed him to the pub, and he must have guessed what route he’d take home because he was waiting for him in the soap factory. Right by the tank, in fact. It was the only way through the yard; you had to walk past it.’

  ‘I remember it well. The path narrowed at that point. There was a wall running alongside it.’

  ‘There was and all.’ Nelly bared her teeth in a grin. ‘And guess who was up on top of it when Jonah came by. With a bleeding great rock in his hands.’

  ‘Ray dropped a rock on his head?’

  ‘So Charlie said. Knocked him out cold. Then he hopped off the wall, hit him a couple more times with it just to be sure, then rolled him into the tank, not forgetting to take his teeth out first.’ She shook her head. ‘And him all of sixteen years old.’

  Madden sat silent. He was staring into his teacup.

  ‘But here’s the bit that really surprised Charlie; not me though.’ Nelly’s thin lips parted in another bitter smile. Seamus paid him! He gave Ray the money. Charlie said he couldn’t believe it. Here was this lad, this boy who was still wet behind the ears, trying to get a hundred quid out of Seamus Slattery! Even if he’d done what he said he’d done there was no reason Seamus shouldn’t have just given him a kick up the backside and told him to bugger off. But instead he paid him like he’d promised.’

  ‘And why weren’t you surprised?’ Madden was still gazing into his teacup.

  ‘Because I knew him, that Ray, and Charlie didn’t. I’d looked into his eyes the same way Seamus Slattery must have done. I’d seen his smile. I never exchanged a word with that Irish pillock, not in all the years we lived in Bethnal Green, Bob and me, but I can tell you what he was thinking. He knew Ray had done what he’d said he’d done, and just by looking at him he knew that if he didn’t pay him it was odds on he’d be next, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.’

  She put down her cup.

  ‘So now you know. But that still don’t explain why it’s you that’s come asking me all these questions instead of the law. Is it because we used to know each other? Did you tell them I owed you a favour because of what you did for Jack?’

  Madden shook his head. ‘No, it’s not like that, Nelly, though I did think it might be easier if you and I talked alone. But I was already involved in this business. I told you this man had killed two women here in London. One of them worked for me on the farm. She was a Polish girl, a refugee.’

  ‘Why’d he kill her?’

  ‘At first we didn’t know. There seemed no explanation for it. But now it appears she saw him kill a man in Paris. That was years ago, just as war was breaking out, but then he ran into her here by chance a few weeks ago …’

  ‘And topped her? Just like that?’ Nelly shuddered.

  ‘Whoever did it — and whoever murdered Alfie and those others, because it was the same man — has made a living out of it. He’s an assassin, Nelly; killing’s his trade. The French police know all about him, though they never found out his real name, or even where he came from.’

  ‘And you reckon it’s Ray?’

  ‘I do now.’ Madden’s nod was final. ‘The man I’m talking about never worked in this country. He plied his trade in Europe and you’ve just told me Ray didn’t come home after the war. Other things seem to fit, too. The early contact with Alfie Meeks. Jonah’s murder. But mostly what you said about him.’

  ‘What I said?’

  ‘The feeling you had.’ Madden met her gaze. ‘What you sensed about him. What you saw in his eyes.’

  She shook her head; her distress was plain.

  ‘I always knew he had a black heart. But killing people for a living …!’

  Madden waited until she had collected herself.

  ‘I’m going to have to tell the police what you’ve told me, Nelly. I’ve no choice. I’m going to give them his name. He’s been living in Europe all these years under aliases. But it’s likely he’s using his own name now because he’s kept it clean. The police can start looking for a Raymond Meeks.’

  ‘That’ll keep ’em busy,’ Her bleak grin had returned. From now until Judgement Day, if you ask me. Seeing as how he never called himself that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Madden stared at her.

  ‘He wouldn’t have taken Jonah’s name, that boy, he wouldn’t have called himself Meeks, not for anything. Vera never married his dad, so it was her name he used always. Ash. That’s what he called himself. And that’s who you should be looking for.’

  She shook a finger at Madden.

  ‘Raymond Ash.’

  PART THREE

  19

  ‘Oh, dear — what a nasty business this is. I’m so sorry to bother you with it, Bess dear.’

  Mary Spencer spread her hands in a gesture of apology.

  ‘But I want your advice. I’ve told Evie she must make a clean breast of this. It’s the only sensible thing to
do. But she doesn’t want to, poor thing. She’s afraid it might mean trouble.’

  Shivering, Mary drew closer to the small fire that was burning in the grate. Bess had lit it when she’d arrived; unexpectedly. Mary had walked into Liphook from the Grange to do some shopping, and seeing Bess’s pony-and-trap standing in the road outside her cottage had knocked on the door. Bess, it turned out, had only looked in for a moment to collect an extra sweater before continuing with her postal round, but on discovering that Mary wanted to talk to her had insisted that she come in for a cup of tea.

  ‘It’s a strange story.’ Bess Brigstock sat frowning, nursing her cup in her hands. ‘She came to you on her own, did she? You had no idea …?’

  ‘None at all,’ Mary assured her. ‘It was a complete surprise.’

  ‘I wonder what made her do it. Tell you, I mean.’

  Mary shrugged. ‘She hasn’t been herself for some time. Not since she went up to Norfolk to see her husband. You remember he was wounded and in hospital there? I thought she was behaving oddly when she came back. I could see she had something on her mind, but though I asked her once or twice if there was anything bothering her, she always said no, and I just assumed it was her husband she was worrying about. She knew that once he was better — he just had a minor shrapnel wound — he’d be sent back to France to rejoin his unit, so it was only natural.’

  She paused to stare into the flames that were starting to catch and spread in the fireplace. A frown creased her brow.

  ‘When did she come to you?’

  ‘Last night. After we’d put Freddie to bed. I didn’t know what to say at first. It was so … so unexpected. And I couldn’t think what to advise her. After all, it’s not as though she hasn’t had time to decide herself. She and her husband. So I told her I’d sleep on it and speak to her again this morning.’

  ‘Which you did?’ Bess frowned. Mary nodded.

  ‘As soon as Freddie had had his breakfast and gone outside. I told her there was no rush, but once Christmas was over she must talk to the police. I said I’d go with her to Petersfield and that seemed to cheer her up.’

  Bess made one of her rumbling bear-like noises; a sort of low growl that always brought a smile to Mary’s lips.

  ‘You don’t want to do it through Bob?’ she asked, meaning Bob Leonard, the Liphook bobby.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. He’s a good sort, but he’s an awful old gossip, and I don’t want people talking about Evie. Pointing a finger at her. I’m sure it’s something that can be cleared up easily. What do you think?’

  ‘Oh, I imagine so. The thing, as you say, is to make a clean breast of it. You must tell her not to worry.’

  Bess patted her hand and Mary smiled in relief.

  ‘Dear Bess. Thank you for listening. I feel so much better now. You’re such a comfort to me.’

  Uncomfortable as always at being singled out for appreciation, Bess dismissed her thanks with a wave of her large paw. She rose, collecting the tea tray as she went, and disappeared into the kitchen. With a sigh Mary sat back and let her eye wander about the small sitting-room, which was decorated for the most part with souvenirs of her friend’s earlier life. Framed snapshots of Bess in exotic locales stood on side tables. In one she was seated on a camel with a great sweep of desert behind her; in another, ankle-deep in the mud of some narrow alley with two small black children clinging to her hands. Pride of place, though, had been given to a larger photograph, handsomely mounted, which hung above the fireplace. It showed a much younger Bess — and a strapping girl she’d been — dressed in a voluminous leather coat and khaki puttees, standing with arms akimbo between two similarly attired women, all three of them smiling broadly. Behind them, serving as a backdrop, was an ambulance of First World War vintage marked with a red cross.

  ‘They were happy days,’ she’d told Mary once, ‘though the war was dreadful. But we were such friends, all of us. And it was an adventure, driving into areas where the battles were still going on, something women had never done before. The men used to cheer when they saw us.’

  Soon Bess was back, bustling in with their coats.

  ‘It’s time I was off. I’m heading out towards Devil’s Lane, but I can give you a lift as far as the crossroads.’

  ‘Will we see you out to the Grange?’ Mary asked a few minutes later when they had both mounted on to the sprung seat of the trap and Bess was unhitching the reins.

  ‘Yes, but not for an hour at least. I’ve all this Christmas post to deliver first.’ She nodded at the pile of packages in the trap behind her, smiling as she did so. ‘There’s something for you. I was keeping it as a surprise. It’s a parcel from Canada.’

  ‘Oh, Bess …’ Mary was delighted by the news. She screwed round on the seat and peered down at the heap of parcels. ‘It must be from my cousin Jenny. They live in Toronto. I was starting to think she’d forgotten us this year.’

  Bess clicked her tongue and the trap gave a lurch as Pickles set off.

  ‘It’s right at the bottom,’ she said. ‘Dig around and you’ll find it.’

  Mary did as she was told, and having delved among the packages found the one she was looking for. She lifted the canvas-sewn bundle up by its stout binding, but quickly set it down again.

  ‘Goodness, it’s heavy. She always sends us jam and marmalade. And a big tin of biscuits. They’re just what I need for Christmas.’

  ‘You can take it with you now if you feel strong enough.’

  ‘Oh, no, that would never do. Freddie loves the ritual of you arriving and then the excitement of seeing whether you’ve got anything for us. This will be a red-letter day. There’s nothing he likes better than opening parcels from overseas. There’s nearly always a bar of chocolate in them.’

  Mary turned and faced the front, her cheeks flushed by the cold air as they rattled along at the brisk trot Pickles had settled into.

  ‘I’m so glad we had this talk. Now all I have to worry about is Peter. I had a letter from him a few days ago — but of course you know that. He said it’s absolutely foul in Italy. Cold and wet and miserable. He never mentions the fighting. All he hoped was that our Christmas would be better than his, and I’m determined to make it so, especially for Freddie. It’s lovely that you’re coming to us, Bess. It’ll make all the difference to the day.’

  She chattered on.

  ‘Did I tell you we’ve got a turkey? I’ve been on tenterhooks about it. At first the MacGregors weren’t sure they would have one for me; it seems they’d all been spoken for months ago. But then one of their customers dropped out. I went over to the farm yesterday to inspect it. I couldn’t resist the temptation. It’s a splendid-looking bird.’

  ‘But one not long for this world, alas.’ Bess sighed windily and Mary laughed.

  ‘I knew you’d say that. And I did feel awful for a moment, watching it gobbling down its food and thinking: yes, go on, keep eating, the fatter you get the better. Thank goodness Annie will take care of the slaughtering and the plucking. At least I won’t recognize it when I put it in the oven.’

  She looked up at the sky. The clouds had been piling up for days; thickening, or so it seemed to her; growing dense and heavy with the burden they bore.

  ‘Oh, I wish it would snow,’ she said. ‘Freddie’s longing for a white Christmas and so am I.’

  Mary shook the blanket she was holding vigorously and then paused to look up at the sky through the tall sash window. The clouds seemed a trifle lower and still heavy with promise. She wondered where Freddie and Evie had got to. The house had been empty when she’d returned, cheeks flushed red from her walk, but forsaking the warmth of the kitchen where the old iron range was kept burning day and night, she had gone upstairs where it was always colder, to start preparing the room that would be Bess’s when she came to them for Christmas.

  The house wasn’t an easy one to manage. Old and rambling, it was an uneasy mix between the farm it had started out as and the country villa it had become thanks to
additions made in the last century. These Victorian touches had given it a somewhat gloomy aspect seen from the front, where high eaves overlooked an elaborate garden now run wild. At the rear, however, the less formal surroundings of the stable yard and the stalls behind it made for a more cheerful picture, particularly now that it had become Freddie’s playground, and Mary never tired of watching her small son as he scampered about the cobbles.

  Discovering on their arrival that the house was without a central heating system — the uncle from whom she had inherited it had spent his winters in the south of France — Mary had decided at the onset of the cold weather to restrict their living quarters to as few rooms as possible. Apart from the kitchen, where an oak table with matching chairs provided ample space for family meals, and where by far the greater part of her time was spent, the only room she had made use of downstairs was a small sitting-room reached via a passage that ran the length of the house, where she and Evie would sit together in the evening listening to the wireless while they read or sewed. She had abandoned the spacious drawing-room beyond it completely, finding it cold even in late summer; likewise the dining-room that lay on the other side of the kitchen at the far end of the passage.

  Upstairs there were six bedrooms, two of which were occupied by Mary and Evie, while Freddie was accommodated in what must have been a dressing-room adjoining his nanny’s living quarters. Luckily the single bathroom still supplied hot water, thanks to a wood-burning furnace in the basement whose mysteries Hodge had explained to Mary once he was assured that her unexpected arrival at the Grange held no threat to himself.