Keedy beamed. ‘It’s the effect I have on women.’ As a new face came into view, he took a close look. ‘That’s like him. In fact, it’s very much like him but …’ He shook his head. ‘No, it’s not him. He’s got the same broken nose but the eyes are different from Brad’s.’
‘So is his name,’ observed Marmion. ‘He’s Eric Hubbleday and he can’t possibly be your man. Look what it says here.’
Keedy read the note aloud. ‘Deceased – March 10, 1914.’
‘Let’s move on.’
As they continued to sift through the records, Keedy let his mind wander to other aspects of the investigation.
‘Did you have a report on David Cohen’s movements?’
‘It was on my desk when I arrived.’
‘What did it say?’
‘Cohen took the train to Brighton, had a drink in a pub, then went to call on someone with whom he’d once worked.’
‘Was it Howard Fine, by any chance?’
‘You’ve guessed it, Joe.’
‘What do you conclude from that?’
‘When he talked about Fine, the manager wasn’t telling the truth. Either both of them were involved in a plot to kill Mr Stein, or they’re on – how shall I put it – intimate terms.’
‘I thought that Cohen was a married man.’
‘It’s often the case,’ said Marmion. ‘When I was in uniform, I helped to raid a club in Soho. We went looking for pornography but what we found was a club for effete gentlemen. Almost all of them turned out to have wives and children.’
‘Are you keeping the manager under observation?’
‘Oh, yes – and I’ve got a pair of eyes on Howard Fine as well.’
‘What motive could they have for killing Mr Stein?’
‘One may well emerge, Joe,’ said Marmion. ‘What they did have were means and opportunity. Cohen had the keys to the shop, after all. He could have let someone in surreptitiously at night.’
Keedy was dubious. ‘I don’t see Fine as a killer somehow.’
‘Looks can deceive. Think how many respectable-looking men have turned out to be ruthless murderers – Dr Crippen, for instance.’
As they talked, they continued to flick through the pages so that Keedy could study the photographs. Eventually, he slapped his hand down on a particular page.
‘That’s him, Inspector,’ he said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘If I had any, I’d bet my life savings on it.’
‘You were right about him having a record and it’s not a very pretty one – assault and battery, malicious wounding and armed robbery. He was only released from Pentonville last year.’
‘Do we pay him a visit?’
‘No,’ said Marmion, studying the face in the photograph, ‘we have to catch him in the act of breaking the law. You meet up with him and that other man on Friday. If this True British League is really bent on destruction,’ he went on, looking up, ‘we’ll be standing by to arrest the whole damn lot of them.’
‘Does that include me, Inspector?’
Marmion slapped him jocularly on the back. ‘You’ll be the first we put the cuffs on.’
Miriam Stein was tugged repeatedly between relief and apprehension. Delighted that her daughter was back home, she feared for Ruth’s mental condition. It was not in her nature to be so headstrong. In the space of a week, however, the girl had contemplated suicide, then climbed out of her bedroom and fled. Miriam had been overjoyed when a uniformed policeman brought Ruth safely back to Golders Green the previous evening. She’d also been amazed at how excited Ruth had been, accepting the strictures of her mother and her uncle with a quiet smile on her face. It was only now, after a late breakfast together, that Miriam was able to probe deeper into the mystery of what had happened.
‘Why didn’t you tell us where you wanted to go?’ she asked.
‘I couldn’t do that, Mummy,’ said Ruth, ‘because Uncle Herman would have stopped me.’
‘He might have tried to talk you out of it.’
‘That comes to the same thing. He’d have got his way. I’d have been kept here and might never have been able to screw up my courage again. Don’t you see? I had to go.’
‘To be candid, Ruth, I don’t see.’
‘I had to overcome my fear of those two men,’ explained Ruth. ‘I was terrified of seeing them again in court when I gave evidence. I wanted the whole case to be dismissed. Then I saw how weak and cowardly that was of me, so I did something about it.’
‘Yes,’ said Miriam, ruefully, ‘you frightened the life out of me and your Uncle Herman. He thought you’d been kidnapped.’ ‘I’m sorry about that, Mummy. I rather hoped that you wouldn’t even notice that I’d slipped out. I hoped to be home before either of you even realised that I was missing.’
‘We were on tenterhooks for hours.’
‘I didn’t mean you to suffer.’
‘Your uncle was so frustrated,’ said her mother. ‘He couldn’t go looking for you because he didn’t have his car, and he couldn’t use your father’s car because that’s still in the West End garage where the police had it towed to examine it. It was maddening, Ruth. However,’ she went on, taking her daughter by the hand, ‘if going back there helped you in any way, then I’m glad you did. I just wish that we’d known about it in advance. Didn’t you trust us to understand?’
‘No, Mummy, I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t understand myself until I got there.’
Miriam leant across her and gave her a kiss. When she sat up again, she took out a handkerchief and mopped up the tears that were forming in her eyes. She’d always believed that she had a close and trusting relationship with her daughter but the last week had fractured that illusion. Ruth was a complex and conflicted young woman. Adversity had reduced her to a point where her whole life had seemed pointless. Somehow she’d rallied. With no assistance from anyone else, Ruth had found the nerve to risk climbing out of the house in order to visit a place that Miriam could never bring herself to go because of its associations. Her daughter had somehow shrugged off those grim associations. She seemed completely restored.
‘It wasn’t just for my own benefit,’ said Ruth, happily. ‘It was for all the family. I wanted to make you proud of me again. I wanted you to see that I’ve got the strength to live through this. I’ll get better,’ she went on. ‘I know it. I’m not going to let this ruin my life. I owe it to Daddy. It’s what he would have expected of me.’
Bursting into tears, Miriam stood up and put both arms around her. The worst was over. The daughter that she knew and loved had come back to her at last. It was a miracle.
Irene was baffled. Her sister was so odd and nervous over breakfast that she wondered if she was ailing in some way. Dorothy insisted that she felt fine and left the house much earlier than usual. It was almost as if she’d wanted to evade scrutiny. Irene washed up the breakfast things and wondered what had provoked the strange behaviour. She continued to worry about her sister until the mail finally arrived. All of a sudden, Dorothy vanished from her mind to be replaced by someone else. As she read the latest cutting sent by her landlady, Irene felt so dizzy that she had to sit down. To make sure she’d not been mistaken, she read the piece again. There was no error. His name was there in front of her. She needed a nip of brandy to help her recover.
She was in a quandary and needed advice. Yet the only person she could turn to was her sister. Miss James was in the house but she couldn’t possibly be told what Irene had learnt. It would distress the old lady too much. Dorothy was the person to help. Forgetting the strain existing between them at breakfast, Irene put on her coat and hat before venturing out. The cutting from the Liverpool Echo was in her handbag and its contents had lost none of their power to shock and frighten. They haunted her all the way. When the shoe shop finally came in sight, Irene almost ran the last forty yards.
Dorothy was astonished when her sister opened the door and stepped breath
lessly in. She could see at once that something was amiss. One of her assistants was serving a customer, so Dorothy took Irene into the storeroom and closed the door behind them.
‘You look terrible, Irene. What on earth has happened?’
‘This has happened,’ replied Irene, taking the cutting from her bag and handing it over. ‘It’s him, Dot.’
Dorothy read the item with rising horror. She could hardly breathe and prickly heat broke out all over her body. A sense of profound guilt burnt inside her. The article disclosed that the police conducting a murder inquiry in Liverpool were searching for a man named Ernest Gill.
‘What am I to do, Dot?’ asked Irene. ‘He’s my friend.’
‘I know.’
‘It must be a mistake. He’d never do such a thing. He swore to me that he wasn’t involved. Should I believe him?’
Dorothy bit her lip and wrestled with her conscience. This changed everything. Her sister deserved to know the truth.
‘I’ve got something to tell you, Irene,’ she said.
‘Have you?’
‘It’s about Ernie.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cyril Burridge sat on a bench in Green Park and ate the sandwiches his wife had prepared for him. His new colleagues preferred to have their lunch in a nearby restaurant but he spurned their company. Whenever possible, he liked to be out in the fresh air, especially on such a warm day. In his immaculate suit and homburg hat, he looked rather incongruous eating out of a lunch box but he ignored the curious glances he attracted. There was no escaping the fact that there was a war on. Soldiers on leave strolled past him in uniform with wives or girlfriends on their arms. Recruiting posters were featured on a hoarding. As he’d passed the vendor at the gate, Burridge had noticed that the newspaper headline told of more bombs being dropped on London by Zeppelins. The Germans were spreading their attack and causing grave concern in the capital. It was not shared by Burridge. He was more interested in tearing off a piece of bread and breaking it up so that he could toss it to the birds dancing around his feet. They pecked thankfully at the crumbs.
When someone sat down beside him, the birds flew away. He turned to berate the newcomer, only to discover that he was next to Inspector Harvey Marmion.
‘Good day to you, sir,’ said the detective. ‘Your employer told me I might find you here.’
‘I like to feed the birds.’
‘That’s a laudable habit, Mr Burridge.’
‘Then why did you frighten them away?’
‘They’ll be back when they realise I’m no threat,’ said Marmion. ‘Those crumbs are far too inviting to leave.’
Burridge glared. ‘What are you after this time, Inspector?’
‘I want the usual thing, sir – more information.’
‘Get it somewhere else. I know nowt.’
‘I think you’d be surprised what you know. You just don’t happen to think it’s relevant. Tell me about Mr Cohen and Mr Fine.’
‘I disliked them both.’
‘How well did they get on together?’
Burridge spluttered. ‘How should I know? I were there to work, not to watch the others.’
‘Do you think Mr Cohen was aware of Mr Fine’s … inclinations?’
‘No,’ said the tailor, ‘he were taken in along with Mr Stein. I’ve got a sharper eye for these things.’
‘Would you describe yourself as a prejudiced man?’
‘Aye – and I’m proud of the fact. I’ve got my standards and no time for them as don’t meet them. Howard Fine fell well short of those standards. I were glad when he went.’
As he fired the next question, Marmion looked him in the eye. ‘Did you dislike him because he was a homosexual or because he was a Jew?’
‘I’ve nothing against Jews,’ said Burridge, angrily. ‘I’ve spent most of my life working with and for them. They’ve always treated me fairly. No, Inspector, I’m not prejudiced in that way. When it comes to sodomites, however, then I’m very prejudiced, as every decent man should be. People like Howard Fine are a disgrace.’
‘I daresay you passed on your low opinion to him.’
‘He knew where I stood.’
‘And did Mr Cohen share your prejudice?’
‘Ask him. He does have a tongue in his head, you know. What I will say is that the manager were troubled when Fine were kicked out. I loathed Mr Stone, as you know, but I agreed with what he did. It’s the only time Herbert Stone and me were of one mind.’
Marmion glanced down at the birds now hopping around only feet away from them. Burridge tossed them some more bread. They pecked away, sometimes fighting over the same crumb. Marmion was amused by their antics.
‘I told you they’d soon come back,’ he commented.
Burridge sniffed. ‘I just wish you hadn’t done so as well.’
‘Do you find my questions so intrusive?’
‘I find them dishonest, Inspector,’ said the other. ‘You ask one thing but you’re thinking another. You’re trying to trick me into saying what you want to hear.’
‘And what’s that, sir?’
‘I haven’t a bloody clue!’
Burridge’s rebuff brought the conversation to an end. He began to wrap up the remaining sandwich before putting it into the box on his lap. When the Yorkshireman got up abruptly, the birds scattered. Marmion rose to his feet and fell in beside him. They walked towards the gate at the Piccadilly end.
‘I’ll come back to the shop with you,’ he said.
‘Well, it’s not by invitation.’
‘Really? I thought you were revelling in my company.’ His sarcasm produced a throaty laugh from Burridge. ‘Did you know that Mr Fine lives in Brighton?’
‘I didn’t know and I don’t care.’
‘What reason could Mr Cohen have for visiting him there?’
‘Ask him.’
‘They were hardly friends when Mr Fine worked in London.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’m going on evidence so far gathered.’
‘Then it’s obviously insufficient,’ said Burridge. ‘People in the same trade congregate together. I’m sure it’s the same with detectives. David Cohen were a tailor and so were Howard Fine. That’s reason enough for them to meet in Brighton or anywhere else. There’s another thing for you to ponder,’ he continued. ‘Mr Cohen holds a position in the Jewish Tailors’ Guild. He’s on the national committee. Even if he hated everything about Mr Fine, he’d do his damnedest to get him to join.’
Marmion kept pace with his companion’s purposeful stride.
‘Why did you become a tailor, Mr Burridge?’
‘I had no choice. It were in my blood. My father were a tailor and so were my granddad.’
‘And I believe your son is carrying on the tradition.’
‘Oh, you’ve found that out, have you? Yes, Arnold is in the trade and so is my son-in-law, as it happens. Why are you checking up on my family, Inspector?’ he said, resentfully. ‘Are you planning to write my biography?’
‘Every detail is useful, sir.’
Burridge was sardonic. ‘Happen I should tell you about my Uncle Reuben, then,’ he said. ‘He lives in Doncaster with Auntie Doris. They’ve got five children and a dog called Alfred. Then there’s my brother, Martin, up in Scarborough, of course. Would you like to hear about the time he broke his leg on the ice?’
‘All right, all right,’ said Marmion, holding up a hand, ‘that’s enough, thank you. I hear you loud and clear.’
‘Does that mean you’ll leave me alone at last?’
‘It means that I’ll let you walk back to the shop alone.’
‘Good.’
‘But I’m glad that we had this brief chat.’
Burridge smiled. ‘Did you get what you came for, Inspector?’
‘Oddly enough,’ said Marmion, ‘I believe that I did.’
It was not until evening that they could discuss the problem in depth. Until then Irene sat at home with her mind
in turmoil. Had her old friend been party to a murder in Liverpool? The dates tallied. On the day he’d got back to the city, Gill boasted, he’d gone out to attack a German family so far unscathed by the backlash after the Lusitania sinking. He’d later retracted his claim, yet his name was now linked in a newspaper to the murder. Irene tried desperately to explain it away, to exonerate him somehow. The article only said that the police wished to speak to him. They didn’t describe him as a suspect, still less as a man on the run. And Gill hadn’t behaved like someone being hunted. He moved around as if he had no qualms whatsoever.
Anxious to believe him, she was bound to take her sister’s confession into account. Dorothy had told her about the encounter with Gill and about the way he’d sworn her to secrecy. Irene was shocked at her sister’s dishonesty and chastised her for being so gullible. Two things, however, had become clear. First, Dorothy’s unusual behaviour the previous day had now been explained and, secondly, Irene realised that the person who’d followed her and Miss James must have been Ernie Gill. Since he didn’t know where Dorothy worked, he must also have trailed her. It was disconcerting to feel that the sisters were both being watched. If Gill really did have a job as a barber, how could he find the time to stalk Irene and Dorothy?
It all came down to the name of his mother. In stating that she’d been called Dorothy, he’d told a blatant lie and, in all probability, had done the same to Irene when they first met. That showed how unscrupulous he could be. Gill never expected that the two women would become aware of the deception. Now that they had, they felt cheated. Irene was seething. A friend she’d known for years had been revealed as an arrant liar with an obsessive interest in her. To get closer to Irene, he was even prepared to manipulate her sister. Yet his scheming didn’t prove him capable of murder. The police could, after all, simply be after him in the hope that he might have information that could lead to an arrest.
When she heard the key in the front door, Irene rushed to open it. Dorothy came in with an expression of utter dejection on her face. She was so eager to resume the discussion that she didn’t even remove her hat and coat. She simply sat on the sofa in the living room and grasped Irene’s hands.
A Bespoke Murder Page 25
