Denial of Murder

by Peter Turnbull

  ‘What about your sisters?’ Yewdall asked. ‘What was your father’s attitude to them?’

  ‘What sisters?’ Lysandra Smith shot an alarmed glance at Yewdall. ‘I don’t have any sisters … none that I know of, anyway.’

  ‘Oh …’ Yewdall expressed surprise. ‘At Gordon’s trial … Gordon’s brother, Derek, told us that your family, your father, mother and your brothers and sisters and cousins all sat in the public gallery. Derek Cogan described them as a really heavy crew … your sisters were hard-faced, cold-eyed women, he said, and your brothers …’

  ‘Hey!’ Lysandra Smith held up her hand. ‘I have no brothers or sisters.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Penny Yewdall couldn’t contain her surprise. ‘But …’

  ‘No …’ Lysandra Smith smiled, ‘there was only me and my father and mother. Those people in the public gallery at Gordon’s trial were street girls hired by my father to look the part, and all the men were thugs in my dad’s firm … he probably wanted to intimidate the judge into passing a heavy sentence. He didn’t get what he wanted there …’

  ‘I see,’ Penny Yewdall said. ‘I see.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you see,’ Lysandra Smith replied with an angry tone of voice, ‘because quite frankly I don’t see. I don’t see Gordon murdering that girl, Janet Frost. I don’t see Gordon getting any justice at all, but what I do see is my father getting away with everything … like he always does.’

  ‘Well … if you feel like that you could always change your mind about keeping Pancras in the dark,’ Yewdall suggested. ‘We could bring a solid case against your father for raping you. We can prove your age and Pancras’s age and show that you were still just fifteen when your father impregnated you … his DNA will confirm him as being the biological father of Pancras … that could, in fact it would, put your father away for a very long time.’

  ‘No …’ Lysandra Smith shook her head, ‘I can’t ever let Pancras know who his father is … and also my father has a tendency to murder anyone who is planning to give evidence against him … so I believe … he’ll stop at nothing to ensure he keeps his liberty … and I mean nothing, even if it means his only daughter goes missing, permanently so … if he thinks I am about to give evidence, I will vanish … maybe even Pancras too.’

  ‘Bad situation.’ Yewdall sighed.

  ‘Couldn’t be much worse; it’s a real mess,’ Lysandra Smith forced a smile, ‘but I can at least thank my father for a classy name and a fine, handsome son.’

  Again, Yewdall enjoyed Lysandra Smith’s dry humour. ‘Will you tell Pancras what your father did to you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ Lysandra Smith sighed and then nodded. ‘In fact, I’ll do that later on today when he returns home from wherever he is. Pancras is always asking me the reason why I don’t visit my father, why I refuse to go near that house in Southgate. He’s wise beyond his fifteen years and he’s old enough to understand, so yes, I’ll tell him, but I’ll stop short of telling him who his father is. I can’t ever tell him that.’

  The two uniformed police officers approached the door in the high-rise tower block with extreme caution. They instantly saw that it had been kicked off its hinges.

  ‘Heavy crew,’ the first officer commented.

  ‘Seems so,’ the second officer replied. ‘They certainly know how to kick a door in.’

  ‘Police!’ The first officer called out as he entered the flat, followed by the second officer. ‘Police! Is anyone here …?’

  The two officers noted signs of violence; upturned and smashed furniture, broken mirrors and panes of glass.

  ‘Police!’ The first officer called out again. ‘Police!’

  The officers found the young woman in the bedroom. She was on the floor beside the bed, dressed in a man’s shirt, frozen with fear.

  ‘All right, love.’ The first officer switched on his radio. He spoke into it. ‘Hello … control … we’re here now … one female victim. Can you send an ambulance, please? No other victim found yet, but we’ll make a thorough search. There are signs of extreme violence … it’s a crime scene all right. Yes, sir … no obvious injuries but in a state of shock. Very good, sir.’ The officer replaced the handset. He turned to his colleague and said, ‘The ambulance is on its way. We are to search the flat for any other victims and await CID and the SOCO team.’

  ‘You’ll be all right now, pet.’ The second officer addressed the woman though he doubted she heard him. ‘We’ll soon have you in hospital, get you looked at.’

  Four hours later the woman who had been found in a shocked and dazed state on the floor of her bedroom was sitting, fully clothed, sipping sweetened hot tea in an interview suite in New Scotland Yard. She had been prescribed a mild sedative but she proved able and willing to talk to Harry Vicary and Penny Yewdall.

  ‘So why the VIP treatment?’ the woman asked.

  ‘You are Bernadette Bailey?’ Vicary asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’ Bernadette Bailey was a tall woman with a thin figure and long black hair.

  ‘You were flagged up as being of interest to us,’ Vicary replied.

  ‘Well, your old wires are crossed, my old china, ’cos this filly has not done nothing the police would be interested in, especially not New Scotland Yard.’

  ‘No crossing of wires,’ Harry Vicary replied calmly, ‘our computer made an interesting sound when your local nick placed a notification on the system that they had responded to a three-nines call from a member of the public reporting your front door had been kicked in … and you are of interest because you are on record as being the partner of Davy “the Cobbler” Bootmaker. We’re looking for him, you see … he’s not in his drum and we want a chat with him.’

  ‘No, he moved into mine a few weeks ago. So what do you want him for?’

  Penny Yewdall noted a lack of concern on Bernadette Bailey’s face about Davy Bootmaker.

  ‘Well,’ Vicary replied, ‘let’s just say he left his fingerprints in a cottage in Hampshire.’

  ‘So that’s what happened.’ Bernadette Bailey continued to show no concern for Bootmaker. ‘I did wonder what they meant. He messed up somehow but I don’t know how. I don’t know the details. He works for Pestilence Smith … and this morning my door got kicked in by a team of Pestilence Smith’s soldiers. They said to him, “Pestilence wants you … and he’s not a happy man. He wants you because you messed up, Davy”. He put up a real fight but they carried him away anyway. I kept out of it. As they were leaving one of the soldiers turned to me and said “You’re a sensible girl, you know the rule”. Then he put his finger to his lips and drew it across his throat. So I nodded. So I saw nothing, I will say nothing.’

  ‘But you’re here,’ Vicary smiled, ‘and you’ve just told us what happened. You are saying something.’

  ‘Yes, but I won’t be signing no statements. I won’t be standing up in no court. I won’t be giving no evidence.’ Bernadette spoke firmly. ‘I won’t be skipping that old rope. But Pestilence has him.’

  ‘You’re not frightened for his safety?’ Yewdall asked. ‘You don’t seem to be very concerned about him?’

  ‘That’s because I am not concerned.’ Bernadette Bailey sipped the tea. ‘Davy Bootmaker is a low-life villain. I’m still in my twenties and I want out of his world and this is the “out” I’ve been waiting for.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Vicary asked.

  ‘Definitely.’ Bernadette Bailey held eye contact with Vicary. ‘Definitely. Definitely. Definitely. Even if Pestilence lets him live he won’t ever walk properly again … it all depends on how badly he messed up. So one way or the other I’m out of it. No more Davy Bootmaker for this filly. Not ever … I’m a free filly now.’

  ‘Do you know where Pestilence’s soldiers took Davy?’ Vicary asked.

  ‘No. It won’t be to his house, though,’ Bailey replied, offhandedly, ‘I can tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘We assumed that,’ Harry Vicary replied dryly.

  ‘
Pestilence,’ Bernadette Bailey put the plastic cup down on the low table which stood in front of the chair in which she sat, ‘has got buildings all over the place which he uses to store stuff … but you know, there is one Davy told me about.’ Bailey raised a long, bony finger. ‘It’s one he keeps clear of stuff so he can use it to give someone a slap. It’s in the East End.’

  ‘That’s helpful,’ Vicary sighed, ‘the East End is a big place. Do you know where?’

  ‘Well, it’s all I know, innit?’ Bailey protested. ‘I’m trying to help all I can. Can I have a fag? I need a smoke. Have you got a fag?’

  ‘No,’ Vicary replied firmly, ‘and you can’t smoke in public buildings anymore. It’s been like that for a few years.’ Vicary paused and then he asked, ‘Do you know any of the men who work for Pestilence Smith?’

  ‘Some … mostly by sight,’ Bailey replied sullenly.

  ‘We’re also looking for a man called Larry Ryecroft,’ Vicary said.

  ‘Now him I do know.’ Again Bernadette Bailey raised a long, bony finger. ‘Him and Davy get teamed up from time to time. In fact, Davy and Larry did the job together, last weekend … the one that Davy messed up.’

  ‘So has Larry Ryecroft been taken to the lock-up as well,’ Vicary asked, ‘because he’s not at home either?’

  ‘No,’ Bailey shook her head, ‘don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’ Vicary asked.

  ‘’Cos he toed it, didn’t he,’ Bailey replied. ‘Scarpered … done a runner … hopped it … cleared the pitch …’

  ‘And how do you know that?’ Vicary pressed.

  ‘’Cos one of the heavy geezers, one of Pestilence’s soldiers asked Davy where Larry Ryecroft was because they’d called on him and he’d fled.’ Bernadette Bailey picked up the cup of tea from the table top. ‘So they gave Davy a good kicking to make him tell them where Larry Ryecroft was … but eventually they gave up when it was clear he didn’t know and then they took him away all bloody and pleading for his life. I reckon someone must have tipped Ryecroft off, but Davy, his mobile was switched off, wasn’t it, so no one could tip him off.’

  ‘That has probably cost him his life,’ Yewdall observed.

  ‘Probably … but do I care? Like I said, I’m out of it now.’ Bernadette Bailey shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m not going to be no bottom of the ladder villain’s chick no more, I’ve seen how they end up … no money … making a pair of tights last two weeks … visiting their men in prison. Na, me, I’m leaving the lifestyle, and I’m leaving the manor. I’m going where I’m not known and I’ll start looking for an honest geezer who can hold down a job and bring in steady money. I’m making a fresh start.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ Vicary replied, ‘but right now we need your help, and Larry Ryecroft needs your help. You’ll be saving his life. That’s something you could do before starting your new life.’

  ‘Oh … oh … no …’ Bernadette Bailey put her hand on her head. ‘Oh no …’

  ‘You’ve realized something.’ Harry Vicary asked, ‘What is it?’

  ‘They’ll be looking for Rita as well,’ Bernadette Bailey panted.

  ‘Rita?’ Vicary asked.

  ‘Rita Hibbert … I like her.’

  ‘Who is she?’ Yewdall asked.

  ‘Larry Ryecroft’s chick,’ Bailey advised. ‘You see if Davy and Larry messed up, Rita will have messed up as well because she went on that job with them … whatever it was … Larry, Rita and Davy, the three of them. Oh, no … oh, no … Pestilence will destroy her face and she’s a looker … he’ll burn it with acid. That’s what he does to chicks who cross him or who mess up. The boys, he’ll likely kill them but he’ll burn a chick’s face off … like he’ll let her live but wishing she was dead. One girl once skimmed fifty sovs … that’s all she did, helped herself to fifty quid … but Pestilence found out and had her face burned off in front of the other runners.’

  ‘Runners?’ Yewdall asked.

  ‘Women who work for Pestilence carrying money and stuff across London. They attract less suspicion than men so they say, or sometimes delivering it to places outside London. I used to be one of them. He gathered all the runners together in a field one night up in Hertfordshire and made them watch as his soldiers poured acid on her face. God … the screams … then they left her there, crawling about the grass while we got back into the cars and drove back to London. Pestilence doesn’t like things being taken from him. Any other villain would have told the other girls to give that girl a slap or he would have told the girl to give him twice the money back, but not Pestilence … a runner took something from him so he destroyed her face. She was a looker too.’

  ‘So where has she gone?’ Harry Vicary asked calmly. ‘I mean, Rita Hibbert. When we called at Ryecroft’s drum this morning there was no one at home.’

  ‘If we find her she lives,’ Penny Yewdall added, ‘even if you don’t care about Davy Bootmaker or Larry Ryecroft, you obviously care about pretty Rita Hibbert.’

  ‘This didn’t come from me … I’ll never be able to hide from Pestilence.’ Bailey’s voice shook with fear.

  ‘Agreed.’ Vicary nodded. ‘It didn’t come from you.’

  ‘Just tell us,’ Penny Yewdall pleaded. ‘We’re under real time pressure if we’re going to save her and Larry Ryecroft. Just tell us!’

  ‘Rita has a sister,’ Bailey replied quickly. ‘I don’t think Pestilence Smith knows about her. In fact, I’m sure he doesn’t know about her. She’s got a council flat in Hampstead, just down the hill from the Royal Free Hospital. I have the address in my address book,’ she turned and opened her handbag, ‘but I didn’t tell you …’

  Harry Vicary thought the flat was a little cramped but also quite cosy, and he assumed that the flats must be sought after because they offered affordable accommodation in a fashionable part of London. The building which contained the flat, and the other flats like it, was a medium-rise inter-war development in red brick, with one of the suburban railway lines carrying traffic in and out of central London running behind it. To the front of the block of flats were delicatessens, fashionable pubs and a bus terminus. Inside the flat Larry Ryecroft and Rita Hibbert, both in their twenties, sat side by side on the two-person sofa clutching each other and shaking with evident fear. The tenant of the flat, Joyce Hibbert, sat in a posture of despair and indignation and annoyance at the table in the window, refusing to look at her sister. Brunnie and Vicary stood in the centre of the room.

  ‘I tried to warn Davy,’ Ryecroft stammered, ‘but the idiot had left his mobile switched off and Bernadette Bailey hasn’t got a landline. She didn’t pay her telephone bill so they cut her off.’

  ‘So who warned you?’ Vicary asked.

  ‘Anonymous text,’ Ryecroft’s voice shook with fear, ‘but I think I know who it might have been. One of Pestilence’s crew owes me a favour, reckon he was paying it back. All it said was “get out … both of you … you’ve less than ten minutes” but that was all the warning we needed. We both know what Pestilence Smith can do and we didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed her and we toed it … out the back, over the fence, down the alley, along the street to the Tube station. Once we’re in the Underground system we reckoned that we were safe for the time being …’

  ‘When I first started working for Pestilence Smith,’ Rita Hibbert spoke with a shaking voice, ‘I was told to keep a bolthole in case he turns on you but I wasn’t to tell anyone about it. It had to be a well-kept secret.’

  ‘Well, you told someone!’ Joyce Hibbert turned to her sister and shouted angrily. ‘Thanks. So now I’m going to have half the gangsters in London at my door now, looking for you and him.’

  ‘We won’t be staying,’ Rita Hibbert attempted to placate her sister. ‘We’ll be away soon.’

  ‘Damn right you won’t be staying, but if they can find you here,’ Joyce Hibbert pointed to Brunnie and Vicary, ‘if they can find you here, so can this Pestilence geezer. It stands to reason.’

  �
��So how did you find us?’ Ryecroft asked meekly.

  ‘I can’t tell you, but this lady’s right,’ Vicary replied. ‘If we can find you then so can Pestilence Smith and his soldiers. If you want us to help you, you have to help us.’ He paused. ‘So, Davy “the Cobbler” Bootmaker – where have they taken him?’

  ‘The lock-up,’ Ryecroft replied in a defeated tone of voice, ‘it’s the only place they would take him.’

  ‘Address?’ Vicary snapped. ‘Where is it … this lock-up?’

  ‘Copenhagen Street,’ Ryecroft replied.

  ‘By King’s Cross Station?’ Vicary asked. ‘That Copenhagen Street?’

  Ryecroft shook his head. ‘No … another street called Copenhagen Street. It’s in the East End, off the Mile End Road … but he’ll be brown bread by now.’

  ‘Not unless he’s got information which Pestilence wants … like your whereabouts … and if we get a wriggle on we can save his hide.’

  ‘OK … lock-up … white painted door,’ Ryecroft advised, ‘black letters on it saying “Beresford Removals and House Clearances”.’

  ‘That’s just a front?’ Vicary clarified. ‘I assume it is?’

  ‘Yes, the name was already on the door when Pestilence took over the lease. He kept the sign up.’ Ryecroft nodded slightly. ‘But, like you say, governor, it’s just a front. It’s just to make it look kosher.’ Ryecroft glanced out of the window at the blue, near cloudless sky over Hampstead, ‘I mean, he can hardly put “Pestilence Smith’s Torture and Execution Chamber” on the door, can he? But that’s what it is and that’s where Davy Bootmaker will be.’

  Frankie Brunnie took his mobile from his jacket pocket, turned and left the sitting room and stood in the short narrow hallway to make a phone call. He returned a few moments later and said, ‘They’re on their way, boss.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Vicary replied, ‘hope we are in time.’ He then turned to the trembling Larry Ryecroft and said, ‘So what happened?’

  ‘It was Pestilence Smith, wasn’t it; he’d got wind of it that a teacher geezer had got out after fifteen years of bird and was asking for a black street worker called Quoshie. Pestilence had it in for the teacher geezer … and so he had a young chick who lived in a rented house over in Acton strangled, the same house that the teacher geezer was living in at the same time.’