A Bespoke Murder

by Edward Marston

  ‘Then I’m inclined to think that he’s innocent.’

  ‘Reserve your judgement until we have more evidence,’ said Marmion, sitting back and rubbing his hands. ‘I think that we’re on the right track at last.’

  ‘Who the devil was the killer?’

  ‘I don’t know, Joe, but I feel that we have one hand on his shoulder now. It’s only a matter of time.’

  Irene Bayard could not be idle. After doing some chores around the house, she made Miss James a cup of tea, asked her if she could do any shopping on her behalf, then went out to catch the tram. It was well past noon when she headed for the shoe shop where Dorothy worked, hoping to tempt her out for a light lunch somewhere. Thrilled to see her, her sister was quick to accept the invitation. She took the two shopping bags from Irene.

  ‘I’ll put these in my office for the time being,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Dot.’

  ‘I rather like the idea of being taken out for lunch.’

  Irene laughed. ‘I didn’t say that I was paying.’

  Having put the bags safely in the back room, and having given orders to one of her underlings, Dorothy led the way to the front door. As she stepped out into the street, she came to a dead halt and looked carefully in both directions before moving on.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Irene.

  ‘Oh, it’s probably just my imagination.’

  ‘What were you looking for, Dot?’

  ‘I’m not even sure that he was even there.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘That’s the trouble, Irene – I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re not making much sense.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Dorothy with a gesture of apology. ‘Something happened when I got here first thing today and it’s been on my mind all morning. I don’t often get feelings like this but they were too strong to ignore.’

  Irene stopped and took her by the shoulders. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’

  Dorothy bit her lip before blurting out a question.

  ‘Have you ever had the feeling that someone was watching you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Irene after a pause. ‘As a matter of fact, I have.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘Thank you, Ray,’ she said, putting the lawnmower in the garden shed, ‘but there was no need to bring it back so soon.’

  ‘I always return things I borrow. Besides, Harvey has a lawn to mow as well. I don’t want him wondering where his machine is.’

  ‘He doesn’t have much time for the garden these days, I’m afraid. Alice has taken over from him. She loves pottering about out here. Unlike me, she’s got green fingers.’

  ‘You have your own talents, Ellen.’

  She pulled a face. ‘I sometimes wonder what they are.’

  Raymond Marmion had called in to hand over the lawnmower. Resplendent in his Salvation Army uniform, he looked as buoyant as ever. He was sad to hear the note of self-deprecation in her voice and sought to bolster her morale.

  ‘You’re a wonderful cook,’ he told her, ‘a supportive wife and a caring mother. That’s three things in your favour and there are lots more.’

  ‘I don’t feel much like a caring mother at the moment,’ admitted Ellen. ‘All that I’ve managed to do is to upset Alice.’

  ‘That’s only because you care for her too much.’

  ‘Do you think that I crowd her?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘It’s what Alice feels, I’m sure, and she resents it.’

  ‘Most children resent their parents at some stage,’ he argued. ‘I know that Lily and I irritate ours like mad from time to time. But they get over it.’

  Raymond described some of the arguments he’d had with his children. He soon had Ellen laughing. It made her take a more relaxed view of her differences with her daughter. If Alice did join the WEC, it was not such a disastrous step. In some ways, she could see, it was an admirable thing to do. It’s just that she would have preferred her to remain in the teaching profession. What irked her was the way she’d provoked such a sharp reaction when she’d offered advice about Joe Keedy. It had been a foolish thing to do, Ellen saw that now. She recalled how angry she’d been as a young woman when her own mother had tried to manoeuvre her into a romance.

  Since her brother-in-law was there, she sought his opinion.

  ‘What did you make of Joe Keedy?’

  ‘I thought he was an interesting chap,’ said Raymond. ‘He’s alert, committed to his job and obviously very efficient at it.’

  ‘Did you know that he’s captured an escaped prisoner?’

  ‘Yes, I saw a brief mention of that in the newspaper.’

  ‘Joe tried to play it down but Harvey was there at the time. He knows how brave and resourceful Joe was. The arrest took place in a river, so they got soaked to the skin in the process.’

  Raymond smiled. ‘And I thought that my job was hazardous.’

  ‘It doesn’t stop you doing it.’

  ‘Nothing would ever stop me, Ellen – it’s a mission.’

  ‘I know.’ She closed the door of the shed and took him back into the house. ‘So Joe Keedy made a good impression on you, did he?’

  ‘He’d make a good impression on anybody, especially the ladies.’

  ‘Yes, he is rather dashing.’

  ‘Yet I suspect that he puts work before all else.’

  ‘Just like Harvey,’ she said.

  ‘It’s probably just as well. If he was on the loose, Joe Keedy would break a lot of hearts.’

  It was a timely reminder to Ellen that she and Alice were not the only women to be aware of his charms. Keedy was a roving bachelor. There had doubtless been many others who’d got close enough to him to entertain hopes of a deeper and more permanent relationship with the detective. He had always let them down. Ultimately, he valued his freedom. Ellen needed to remember that. In urging her daughter to go in pursuit of Keedy, she had been setting Alice up for an inevitable disappointment. It was another reason to reproach herself for raising the subject.

  ‘I hope that I was able to help,’ said Raymond. ‘Joe seemed to think that I had. I don’t envy him his task. He’s courting danger.’

  ‘You do that all the time, Ray.’

  ‘Rude names and the odd missile are what I have to put up with for the most part, Ellen. That’s not the case with Joe. Some of these groups he wants to investigate are full of violent men. They pledge allegiance to a doctrine that actually encourages them to use force.’

  ‘Joe Keedy can defend himself.’

  ‘It’s just as well,’ said Raymond. ‘If he starts to probe too hard in the wrong places, he’ll be in jeopardy.’

  * * *

  There were so many of them. That’s what distressed Keedy. In their search for organisations with an anti-Semitic agenda, the detectives he’d assigned to the task had discovered several names to be added to the list given him by Raymond Marmion. Even more distressing than the number of groups was the propaganda that they put out. Keedy leafed through a pile of it and recoiled at its crudity and naked prejudice. Jews were reviled for things they could not possibly have done. There were absurd allegations of Jewish plots to seize power in Britain and impose punitive taxation. One pamphlet even accused them of being behind the sinking of the Lusitania. Every line of the posters incited hatred and the cartoons were grotesque. Anyone reading the literature churned out by the so-called guardians of British purity would think that the country was already overrun by Jewish immigrants and their network of spies. Keedy was appalled that such mindless bigotry still existed.

  The reports on his desk suggested that most of the groups were more inclined to make vile threats than to implement them but there were those dedicated to direct action against what they saw as the relentless encroachment of Judaism. Of the names before him, Keedy took a special interest in the True British League. The headline on its leaflet was unambiguous: JEWS ARE A POISON INJECTED INTO TH
E NATIONAL VEINS. The leaflet went on to claim that every foreign office in Europe was controlled by Jewish moneylenders who had fomented the war in order to exploit it for profit. The charges were patently ludicrous but Keedy knew that there would always be those who believed them. It was time to get acquainted with the organisation. He had already dispatched detectives to infiltrate some of the groups that had aroused his suspicion. Keedy had saved the True British League for himself.

  * * *

  Sir Edward Henry was tied up in a series of meetings for most of the day. It was not until late afternoon that Marmion was able to see him. When he showed the commissioner the drawings of the shop, and told him of the deduction he’d made on the basis of them, he was given a verbal pat on the back.

  ‘Well done, Inspector! You’ve explained the inexplicable.’

  ‘It’s only a theory, Sir Edward.’

  ‘It has the ring of truth to me.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  ‘Let me get this right,’ said the commissioner, recapitulating. ‘You believe that someone was concealed in the building before that mob got anywhere near it. Where could he hide?’

  ‘The attic is the obvious place. From that vantage point, he’d have been able to see that gang coming along Jermyn Street. Once the attack started and the diversion was created, he came down into the office, killed Jacob Stein and emptied the safe.’

  ‘How could he know that the safe would be open?’

  ‘He couldn’t,’ replied Marmion. ‘That was pure luck. I think that he was only there to commit murder. When he saw that the safe had been left obligingly open, he helped himself to its contents.’

  ‘The murder seems to have been planned so carefully.’

  ‘Mr Stein paid for being a creature of habit.’

  ‘I’m just grateful that his daughter was not there when the killer struck or she, too, might have been murdered.’

  ‘She had a problem of her own to contend with, Sir Edward.’

  ‘Yes – those two men lurking in the alley. It must have been a terrifying experience for her.’ He touched Marmion’s shoulder. ‘I’m so pleased that you and Sergeant Keedy managed to apprehend Cochran so quickly. We can’t have a rapist on the loose.’

  ‘Cochran has another charge to face now,’ said Marmion, ‘and it’s one of attempted murder. The sergeant and I will act as witnesses.’

  ‘You caught him red-handed, so to speak.’

  ‘I’m hoping that it will encourage Ruth Stein to face the man in court. If she knows he’s certain to be convicted on the other charge, she has no worries that he’ll be released to torment her again. That will reassure her.’

  ‘We need to put Cochran and Gatliffe away for a long time.’

  ‘I’m certain that that will happen, Sir Edward.’

  ‘Good.’

  Marmion updated him on the progress of the investigation. A detective had been deployed to watch David Cohen’s movements. Other men had been told to gather more information about Howard Fine and Cyril Burridge. The people whose names were on Herbert Stone’s list of potential enemies were also being contacted. Marmion had cast his net wide.

  ‘What about Sergeant Keedy?’ asked the commissioner.

  ‘He’s testing his own theory.’

  ‘An anti-Semitic element is clearly present, Inspector.’

  ‘He’ll bring it out into the open. Since we were landed with this case,’ observed Marmion, ‘we’ve gathered a lot of significant evidence. What we lack is the connecting thread that runs through it and brings it all together. I’m looking to the sergeant to find it.’

  He was there again. She sensed it. As soon as Dorothy came out of the shop, she knew that she was being watched. Though she looked in every direction, she saw no sign of her stalker. Taking out her keys, she locked up the shop then walked briskly away. There was only one way to solve the mystery. Discounting the possibility that it could be a woman, she resolved to confront the man. It was a difficult thing for someone like Dorothy to do and she had to summon up all her courage. Eventually, she felt strong enough to take action. When she turned a corner, therefore, she didn’t continue her walk along the pavement. She stepped into the porch of a house and waited. Twenty seconds ticked past. As she heard footsteps approach, her heart began to pound. Someone eventually came around the corner and stopped as if wondering where she had disappeared. Making an effort to control her nerves, she stepped out to face him.

  ‘Are you following me?’ she asked in a querulous voice.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, raising his hat in greeting. ‘There’s no need to be alarmed. It’s just that you remind me of a good friend of mine – Irene Bayard.’

  ‘I’m her sister.’

  ‘There – that explains it. I’m Ernie Gill, by the way.’

  Dorothy relaxed. ‘Irene has spoken about you.’

  ‘I saw you yesterday and decided that I must be mistaken. So I came back for a second look today. You must be Dorothy Holdstock.’ She nodded. ‘There was just something about you that was so like Irene. I had to find out the truth. Did I upset you?’

  ‘It was rather troubling, Mr Gill.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. Well,’ he said, looking her up and down, ‘it’s good to meet you at last. Irene’s told me a lot about you. What she didn’t mention was that her sister was such a handsome woman.’

  She was flattered. ‘Oh, I’d never claim that.’

  ‘Don’t be so modest. I only speak as I find.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Irene and I worked together for many years.’

  ‘So I gather, Mr Gill.’

  ‘Call me Ernie – everyone else does.

  ‘Except my lodger, Miss James, that is – she prefers Ernest.’

  ‘She seemed a sweet old girl when I met her.’

  ‘She is, Mr Gill … oh, sorry – Ernie.’

  ‘How is Irene settling in?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Dorothy. ‘She told me that she wished she’d moved in with me years ago. She only took the job with Cunard to get over the loss of her husband.’

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘That really hurt her. I mean, he was so young.’

  ‘She still hasn’t fully recovered.’

  Ernie Gill wasn’t at all as she’d imagined. He was taller, thinner and older than the portrait in her mind. He had a pleasant voice and an easy manner, though there was a faint hint in his eyes of the intensity that Irene had warned her about. Dorothy’s main emotion was relief that he had not been some anonymous stalker with designs on her handbag or, even worse, on her body. Gill was wearing a smart suit and was well groomed. He looked perfectly presentable and she could not understand why Irene had kept them apart.

  ‘Does your sister ever talk about me?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. She’s told me all about the rescue.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to let my favourite person drown. When I saw her flailing around in the water, I just had to go to her.’

  ‘Irene is eternally grateful.’

  ‘I simply acted on impulse, Miss Holdstock.’

  ‘You can call me Dorothy – or Dot, if you prefer.’

  ‘I’ll stick to Dorothy. It was my mother’s name.’

  ‘I inherited it from an aunt.’

  Gill was slowly getting her measure. It was not difficult to see why she’d remained a spinster. She had none of Irene’s physical charms and was uneasy in the company of a man. Dorothy didn’t know how to cope with flattery because she was so unused to receiving it. Gill found her dull and fatally old-fashioned.

  ‘What else has Irene told you about me?’ he probed.

  ‘She said what a good friend you’d been to her.’

  ‘You need friends on board a ship. Otherwise, voyages can get very boring, even on a liner like the Lusitania.’

  ‘It seems such a coincidence that both of you decided to leave Liverpool and move to London together.’

  He chuckled. ‘Unfortunately, we moved here separately,’
he said. ‘If it was left to me, we would have moved here together.’

  ‘Yes, she mentioned that you were … an admirer of hers.’

  ‘I’m much more than that, Dorothy. You tell her. Oh, no,’ he corrected himself. ‘It might be safer if you didn’t mention that we bumped into each other like this. For some reason, Irene didn’t want me to meet you. Do you happen to know why?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t.’

  ‘Then let’s keep this meeting as our little secret, shall we?’

  Dorothy was uncertain. ‘I suppose that we could.’

  ‘At least you know who I am now.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘So you won’t have to worry about your sister if she says that she’s meeting Ernie Gill.’ He flashed a smile. ‘As you can see, I’m quite harmless. I’m just a nice, respectable, hard-working barber.’

  ‘Irene said that you’ve already found a job.’

  ‘Yes, I work strange hours but I really like it. I’ve made some new friends as well. In fact,’ he went on, ‘the move to London has been a success in every possible way – especially now that I’ve met you.’

  Dorothy emitted an almost girlish giggle.

  Joe Keedy could not go in one of the suits he usually wore. The address on the leaflet was in a rough area of the city and he didn’t wish to look out of place. Returning to his flat, he changed into the tatty old clothing he kept by way of a disguise. With his flat cap on, he looked at himself in the mirror and decided that he could easily pass as a manual worker of some kind. When he set off, he had the leaflet from the True British League stuffed in his coat pocket.

  It took him over half an hour to reach the Lord Nelson, a shabby pub with a fading image of the great naval hero on the sign that dangled outside. Keedy went in and showed the leaflet to the barman. After sizing him up, the man directed him to a door at the rear. Keedy knocked, opened the door and went into a rectangular room with beer crates stacked against one wall. Seated behind a bare table was a big brawny man in his forties with a gleaming bald head and a broken nose. Another man – younger, slimmer and whose wavy brown hair was parted in the centre – was reading a newspaper in the corner. He glanced up at Keedy then went back to his paper.