She sat down and took them off so that Dorothy could pop them back into the box. Irene put on her own shoes, picked up her handbag and crossed to the counter. Her sister had moved to the till. Dorothy felt slightly cheated that she’d been told so little about the lunch Irene had shared with her friend. Expecting a full account, she’d got no more than a couple of sentences out of Irene. She probed again.
‘So you will be seeing him again in due course?’
Irene pursed her lips. ‘I suppose so.’
‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’
‘We’ve got so little in common.’
‘How can you say that, Irene? You worked together for years and the pair of you survived the sinking of the Lusitania. I’d have thought that would give you a bond for life.’
‘Well, it hasn’t.’
‘Listen,’ said Dorothy, ‘why don’t you invite Ernest for tea one Sunday? I’d so like to meet him.’
‘No,’ said Irene, decisively. ‘I’m not having him in the house. Let’s be clear about that. If he calls when I’m not there, he must not be allowed in. Do you understand?’
Dorothy was taken aback by the sharpness in her voice.
‘I’m sorry, Irene,’ she said, ‘but, frankly, I don’t understand.’
Cyril Burridge was an unlikely tailor. He was a big burly man in his fifties with the broad shoulders of a manual worker and an ugly face decorated by a walrus moustache. His expensive suit had been cleverly cut to hide his paunch. Marmion sensed a dormant anger in his visitor. When he’d offered Burridge a seat, he got him to talk about his time at the shop in Jermyn Street. Burridge was laconic. Into less than two minutes, he condensed the story of well over twenty years.
‘Why did you leave?’ asked Marmion.
‘It were time to go.’
‘Mr Cohen said you had a disagreement with Mr Stein.’
‘So?’
‘What was the disagreement about?’
‘It’s a private matter.’
‘Not if it’s relevant to this investigation, Mr Burridge. I need hardly remind you of the seriousness of the crimes committed. Someone murdered your former employer. To find out who the killer was, I need every detail I can gather about what went on inside the business. In other words,’ Marmion stressed, ‘privacy does not exist.’
Burridge glowered at him for a few moments then he sniffed.
‘It were about money,’ he confessed.
‘You wanted an increase in your pay?’
‘We all want that, Inspector.’
‘Why are you being so evasive?’
‘Ask Mr Cohen about that.’
Marmion sat back to appraise him. Burridge was well defended. He was ready to cooperate with the investigation but only on his terms. He was like a batsman at the wicket, confident of being able to hit any ball that was bowled at him. Those he could not smash to the boundary, he would deflect with a flick of the wrist. The inspector changed his grip on the metaphorical ball and tossed it at him again.
‘Why were you so difficult to find, Mr Burridge?’
‘You didn’t look hard enough.’
‘Nobody seemed to know where you’d gone to.’
‘I don’t advertise my whereabouts.’
‘It seemed odd that you should vanish around the time that Mr Stein’s shop was attacked and when he himself was murdered.’
‘You’re a policeman. You have a suspicious mind.’
‘You don’t find it odd, then?’
‘No,’ said Burridge. ‘I had leave owing to me. I took it.’
‘Why did you choose that particular week?’
‘Ask my wife – it were her idea.’
Marmion’s latest ball was met with a straight bat. It was frustrating. Having come ostensibly to help the inquiry, Burridge was doing the opposite. All he was interested in was establishing his innocence. He showed no sadness over the death of his former employer and no regret over the fact that the premises where he had worked for so many years had been burnt down. Burridge seemed to have cut himself off comprehensively from the past.
‘I gather that you and Mr Cohen did not get on,’ said Marmion.
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘Not in so many words, sir. It was something I sensed.’
‘David Cohen were a good manager.’
‘But you’d never describe him as a bosom pal, would you?’
‘We had different opinions sometimes.’
‘Did that lead to arguments?’
Burridge smiled. ‘What do you think?’
‘Did you ever argue about money?’
‘No.’
‘Did you complain about the way that the business was run?’
‘I did the job I were paid for, Inspector.’
‘How did you get on with the rest of the staff?’
‘Ask them.’
‘I’m asking you, Mr Burridge.’
The Yorkshireman shrugged. ‘We got on well enough.’
Marmion doubted that. Burridge was the sort of man who would enjoy throwing his weight around when dealing with junior colleagues. In certain circumstances, his physical presence and gruff manner could be rather menacing. Marmion could see why the suave and reserved David Cohen had hinted at difficulties with Burridge. In both character and attitude, the two men would never be natural bedfellows. Marmion stepped up his attack.
‘Did you like Jacob Stein?’ he asked.
‘He were my employer.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘I respected him.’
‘But you didn’t actually like him.’
‘Do you like your boss, Inspector?’
‘That’s beside the point.’
‘Mr Stein gave me work. I were grateful for that.’
‘But not grateful enough, I suspect,’ said Marmion. ‘How much did you see of his brother, Herbert Stone?’
Burridge scowled. ‘Too much.’
‘Did he come to the shop often?’
‘Too often.’
‘Why was that? He had his own business to run.’
‘Mr Stone liked to keep his finger in every pie.’
‘Are you saying that he had a financial interest in the business?’
‘Mr Cohen is the man to ask that.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Marmion, ‘he isn’t. He was surprisingly reticent on the subject. He wouldn’t even tell me how harmonious or otherwise the relationship between Mr Stein and his brother had been.’ Burridge stifled a grin. ‘I was hoping that your famed honesty would allow you to enlighten me on the subject.’
‘Happen.’
‘My guess is that Mr Stone used to browbeat his brother and interfere in the running of the business.’
‘I can see that you’ve met him.’
‘He’s an assertive gentleman.’
‘That’s a kind way of putting it, Inspector,’ said Burridge. ‘I’d have called him a bloody nuisance.’
‘Did he have some involvement in the business?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘And did that entitle him to make decisions relating to it?’
‘Mr Stone thought so.’
‘Was his brother afraid of him?’
‘Everyone were afraid of him – except me.’ Burridge took out his watch and glanced at it before returning it to his waistcoat pocket. ‘How much longer do you need me here, Inspector?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got work to do. Instead of questioning me, you should be looking at people who might be glad that Mr Stein is dead.’
‘Such as?’
‘Start with his brother.’
Marmion was amazed. ‘You surely can’t be accusing Herbert Stone of being party to the murder.’
‘You heard my advice. Take it or leave it.’
‘You must have some reason for naming him.’
‘I’ve got lots of reasons.’
‘What are they?’
‘Find out,’ said Burridge, getting to his feet. ‘Look into the
way that the business was structured.’ He fingered his moustache. ‘Will that be all, Inspector?’
Marmion was on his feet. ‘Not quite, sir,’ he said. ‘Why was Howard Fine sacked?’
‘He should never have been taken on in the first place.’
‘Was he such a poor tailor?’
‘Howard never fitted in.’
On that enigmatic note, Burridge gave a nod and departed.
Unlike most of the people Keedy interviewed, Howard Fine was eager to cooperate. He was a tall, slim, dark-haired man in his twenties, wearing an immaculate suit that the sergeant coveted the moment he set eyes on it. They were in a small featureless room that had no natural light coming in. Seated directly under the lampshade, Fine was bathed in an unreal glow. His handsome clean-shaven face was split by a nervous grin and his hands gesticulated whenever he spoke.
‘How long were you with Mr Stein?’ asked Keedy.
‘Five or six weeks in all, Sergeant.’
‘Did you like it there?’
‘Of course,’ said Fine. ‘It was the sort of job that every tailor dreams of. Jacob Stein has a big reputation in the trade. I couldn’t believe my luck when I was taken on by him.’
‘How did that come about, sir?’
‘There was a vacancy and I applied for it. That’s to say, I was tipped off about the vacancy by my uncle who was kind enough to put in a good word for me with Mr Stein. Not that it was as simple as that,’ Fine went on, anxious to dispel any notion of nepotism. ‘I had to show examples of my work and compete with two others on the shortlist. Eventually, I landed the job.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes and no. I enjoyed the work itself but I never felt that I was fully accepted. I don’t know why, Sergeant. I’m affable by nature and do my best to get along with everyone. Somehow it never worked.’
‘Could you be a little more specific, Mr Fine?’
‘Well,’ said the other, ‘it came down to two people, I suppose. I hardly saw Mr Stein himself but I had to deal with Mr Cohen and Mr Burridge every day. Mr Cohen – he’s the manager – resented me for some reason. He was always criticising my work.’
‘What about Mr Burridge?’
‘He was much more of a problem. I hate arguments, you see, and run a mile if someone confronts me. Mr Burridge was always doing that. He didn’t just resent me – he hated me and I still don’t know why. I mean, I tried my best. What more could they ask?’
‘So,’ said Keedy, wishing that the man would twitch less, ‘there was obviously tension at work.’
‘It wasn’t my fault.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t, sir.’
‘I was bullied by Mr Burridge and sniped at by Mr Cohen. To tell you the truth, it began to get on my nerves. At least I don’t have that problem in my new post.’
‘And where might that be, Mr Fine?’
‘I work for a bespoke tailor in Brighton,’ said Fine, beaming. ‘It’s not as grand as being in the West End but I’m much happier and I’m able to live at home with my parents. All in all, it’s worked out for the best. Let’s face it,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘if I’d stayed with Mr Stein, my job would no longer exist. What a tragedy that would have been. Not that it compares with what happened to Mr Stein, of course,’ he said, hastily. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think I’m that self-centred. I was shaken rigid when I heard about the murder. It preyed on my mind for days. I do hope you catch the man who killed him.’
Fine launched himself into a paean of praise about Jacob Stein, saying what an honour it had been to work for him, albeit for only a short time. Keedy let him ramble on for minutes then halted him with a forthright question.
‘Why did he give you the sack?’
Stopped dead in his tracks, Fine looked almost insulted.
‘If Mr Stein liked your work enough to take you on,’ said Keedy, ‘why did he dismiss you?’
‘He didn’t dismiss me,’ said the other, petulantly. ‘If truth be told, he wanted me to stay.’
‘Then who got rid of you – was it Mr Cohen?’
‘No – he didn’t have the authority.’
‘Somebody must have sacked you. Who was it?’
Howard Fine winced, his nervous smile replaced by a grimace.
‘It was Mr Stein’s brother,’ he said. ‘Herbert Stone.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Herbert Stone would never win any awards for patience. Once his brother’s funeral was over, and once he felt that he’d convinced Ruth of the seriousness of her sin in attempting suicide, he turned his attention to the investigation once more. Instead of hounding Harvey Marmion directly, he went over the inspector’s head and spoke to the commissioner. They met in the latter’s office at Scotland Yard. Sir Edward Henry gave details of the progress made so far but was unable to announce the arrest either of the killer, or of the man believed to have used petrol to accelerate the blaze. Stone was peeved.
‘Why is it taking so long, Sir Edward?’
‘Evidence has to be pieced together bit by bit.’
‘Put more detectives on the case,’ suggested Stone.
‘That’s not possible,’ explained the commissioner. ‘The events in Jermyn Street are not the only crimes with which we have to deal. There are scores of other cases demanding urgent attention. I’m doing my best to deploy my men to the best advantage but – with a depleted force – I can’t spare any more of them at the moment.’
‘Perhaps I should hire some private detectives.’
‘That’s your right, of course, but I wouldn’t advise it. No private detective has the resources that Scotland Yard can offer, nor the experience of someone like Inspector Marmion. You seem to have forgotten that he’s already solved one serious crime,’ said Sir Edward. ‘Incidentally, how is your niece?’
Stone’s face darkened. ‘Ruth is still suffering badly.’
‘Was she heartened by the news of the two arrests made?’
‘She will be in due course – when she’s pulled herself together.’
‘I’ve dealt with victims of crime for many years,’ said the commissioner, ‘and what I’ve noticed is that their greatest need is for reassurance. They want to feel safe and that the outrage will not occur again. It’s only after those two imperatives have been met that they begin to think about punishment for the offenders.’
‘I’ve thought about nothing else,’ said Stone, icily.
‘In arresting the two men, we’ve given your niece some peace of mind. They no longer represent a threat to her. The healing process can finally begin.’
‘It may not be as easy as that, Sir Edward.’
‘Why not?’
‘Ruth is an unusually sensitive girl.’
Stone did not tell him about the despair into which his niece had sunk, nor did he mention the abortive attempt at killing herself. They were private matters that had to be kept strictly within the family. What he did explain was that, hopefully, Ruth’s brother was on his way home. Stationed with his regiment in Mesopotamia, Daniel Stein had missed his father’s funeral and there was no certainty that word of it had actually reached him because the expedition was on the move. Writing to his nephew’s commanding officer, Stone had asked for compassionate leave so that Daniel could return home to mourn with the rest of the family. He and his sister had always been close. Stone believed that seeing him again might help to bring Ruth out of her depression. Before that could happen, however, Daniel would have to make the long and perilous journey home.
‘This war has played havoc with families,’ observed Sir Edward. ‘And as far as I can see, there’s no end in sight.’
‘Daniel is needed here. I expressed that need in the strongest terms, yet I still haven’t had a response.’
‘Correspondence does go astray, I fear.’
‘Then I’ll keep on sending word until it gets through.’
‘You do that, Mr Stone. Perseverance is everything.’
They chatted for a few more min
utes then Stone rose to leave. After a farewell handshake, he moved to the door, pausing when he remembered something.
‘You might tell Inspector Marmion that I’m considering the hire of private detectives,’ he said.
‘Why should I do that?’
‘It might act as a spur to him if he knows he has competition.’
‘Nobody can compete with the inspector,’ said Sir Edward.
‘It won’t be the first time I’ve had to take matters into my own hand,’ explained Stone, pointedly. ‘When one of my warehouses was razed to the ground, I realised that I couldn’t rely on police protection. That’s why I’ve brought in a private firm to guard my property.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘You might mention that to the inspector as well.’
* * *
When both interviews were concluded, the detectives discussed them over a cup of coffee. Marmion felt that he’d had the more productive session, picking up a whole new line of inquiry from Cyril Burridge. Keedy was as astonished as the inspector had been that the name of Herbert Stone was put forward as a possible suspect.
‘Mind you,’ said Keedy, thoughtfully, ‘it does chime in with something that Howard Fine told me.’
‘What was that, Joe?’
‘The person who booted him out of a job was Herbert Stone.’
‘Who gave him the right to do that?’
‘He just took it.’
‘That decision should surely have lain with Jacob Stein.’
‘I put that point to Fine.’
‘What was his response?’
‘He said that Stone was always poking his nose into the shop and asking to see the accounts. He obviously has some stake in the company but Fine didn’t know what it was.’
‘We need to dig a little deeper on that front.’
Keedy shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I can’t accept that Stone is behind it all. What possible motive would he have for killing his brother and seeing the premises go up in smoke? Unless the place was heavily insured, of course – can we find out if it was?’
‘I’ve already sent someone off to do just that,’ said Marmion. ‘And I agree that Stone would not be my prime suspect either. On the other hand, we didn’t see any sign of grief when he realised that his brother might be dead. I’d be devastated if anything like that had happened to Ray.’
A Bespoke Murder Page 14
