by Sam Michaels
‘What’s going on?’ Ned asked, looking at Augustus sprawled on the parquet flooring.
‘He fell.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘I dunno,’ Johnny answered, and crouched beside him for a closer look. ‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘We weren’t supposed to kill him.’
‘I know that,’ Johnny snapped. ‘I told you, he fell.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do, all right.’
‘Fine, keep your hair on.’
‘Sorry. How we doing?’
‘One more to find,’ Ned answered.
‘Have a look upstairs.’
‘Stupid stuck-up bastard,’ Ned said with disgust as he stepped over Augustus’s lifeless body and a puddle of blood that had pooled beside his head.
Johnny paced back and forth. Georgina had been very specific about not killing Augustus. She wasn’t going to be happy. The murder of a wealthy gent would have the police working doubly hard to solve the crime. It was something they really didn’t need to contend with at the moment.
Ned came back downstairs carrying a large painting. ‘Got it,’ he said. ‘That’s all the ones on the list.’
‘Good, put it in the car then come back and give me a hand with him.’
‘What are we gonna do with him?’
‘I dunno yet. Go on, hurry up,’ Johnny answered, debating with himself on whether it would be best to bury Augustus in his garden or take his body back to Alexandra Avenue and put him under cement in the cellar with the other stiffs. He decided on the latter.
Nobby came back in with Ned, shaking his head.
‘Nice one, Johnny,’ he said sarcastically.
‘Yeah, all right, spare me the lecture. Just give us a hand shifting him.’
‘Where to?’ Ned asked.
‘We’re taking him with us.’
‘Are you joking?’
‘No. Grab his feet. Nobby, you take his arms.’
‘Hang on a minute, mate,’ said Ned. ‘You sure you’ve thought this through? The boot is already full and the rest of the paintings are on the roof. Where are we gonna put him?’
‘We ain’t got time to fuck about. Just grab him, will ya! He can squeeze in the back seat with you.’
‘No fucking way. I ain’t sitting next to a dead body all the way back to London. And there ain’t room. There’s stuff on the back seat and Nobby takes up most of the bleedin’ space as it is.’
‘Then you’ll have to have him across your laps.’
‘You can fuck off, Johnny. Urgh, there’s no way I’m having a stiff on my lap.’
‘All right, Eric can drive. You can sit in the front. Mr Rice here can sit in between me and Nobby.’
Ned shook his head disapprovingly but helped them shift the body to the car. They tried to sit him upright but he kept leaning to one side.
‘Nobby, get in,’ Johnny said, ‘And help me to hold him up.’
‘What about the dogs?’ Ned asked.
‘What about them?’
‘We can’t leave them there. They’ll starve to death. Miss Garrett will do her nut if she finds out we’ve left the dogs to die.’
Johnny realised that Ned had a good point. ‘Untie them and let them out the gate. Someone will find them.’
‘What if they go for me?’
‘Fucking hell, Ned. Just do it!’ Johnny barked.
With a huff Ned walked up to the dogs, saying ‘Good boys,’ as he unleashed them. ‘Off you go,’ he urged.
They seemed unsure at first but when Eric tooted the car horn, they bolted, running off through the gate and along the country lane.
‘Happy now?’ he said to Johnny as he climbed into the car.
‘Yeah,’ Johnny replied shortly.
Ned locked the gate behind them and as they set off, Johnny was pleased to be away.
It didn’t seem to bother Nobby that they had a dead body in the back with them, but Johnny grimaced. ‘Put your foot down, Eric. I want to get back to Battersea before Mr Rice here starts stinking,’ he said, winding down the window.
‘At least it ain’t hot,’ Ned laughed. ‘But I hope it don’t rain. The paintings on the roof have only got a couple of blankets wrapped round them.’
They’d been travelling for about an hour when Johnny was stunned as Nobby suddenly yelled out.
‘Argh… he moved. He fucking moved,’ Nobby shouted.
‘What?’ Johnny asked, but before Nobby could answer, to Johnny’s horror, Augustus made a moaning sound.
Nobby twisted in his seat, looking as if he was trying to move away from the body that appeared to be coming back to life.
‘He’s alive… He’s a-fucking-live,’ Nobby said, sounding horrified and squirming in his seat.
‘Then kill him,’ Ned shouted, ‘Fucking kill him.’
There wasn’t much room to swing their arms but Johnny and Nobby started frantically punching Augustus in the face and head, and all the while Nobby made a deep screaming noise with each punch.
Augustus’s head flopped from side to side with each blow. His blood splattered over Johnny’s face and across the interior of the car. After a few minutes of exertion, they stopped hitting him.
‘Is he dead?’ Nobby asked cautiously.
Johnny was about to say, ‘I think so,’ but unbelievably, they heard Augustus groan.
‘Fucking die, you bastard,’ Johnny said as they resumed punching him again. His knuckles were bruised and sore now but they couldn’t allow Augustus to live to tell his story to the police. Kidnap would carry a heavy sentence.
‘I think he’s a goner now, Johnny,’ Ned said from the passenger seat.
Johnny’s shoulders heaved up and down as he gasped for breath and studied Augustus’s battered face. Yes, the man had finally stopped breathing. But Miss Garrett wasn’t going to be happy about them returning with a dead man whose blood now stained her car.
*
‘You get off to bed, I’ll wait for Johnny,’ Georgina told Charlotte.
‘No, it’s all right, I’ll keep you company. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’
‘Suit yourself. But you’ll be knackered for your next date with Tim tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, but I should think he’ll feel a bit groggy too after that sleeping pill I slipped him.’
‘You did a good job, and you’re sure he doesn’t suspect anything?’
‘Positive. I feel awful about drugging him though, especially as we had such a lovely evening together.’
‘Charlotte, the man is a copper! I know you like him and that’s up to you, but never lose sight of what he is.’
‘Yeah, I know. I wish he weren’t in the police force.’
‘At least you’re making good progress with him.’
‘Cor, yeah, not ’alf. He was fascinated to hear about you and then said, there are criminals who are good people and policemen who are bad… like his dad. It’s not all black and white, there’s grey areas too.’
‘Do you reckon we’ve got any chance of getting him to work for us?’
‘I dunno, Georgina. I think so but not in a corrupt way, like for money or nothing. I think he might help to protect you for my sake.’
‘Good. I don’t care what his reasons are, just as long as we can get him on board. I’m gonna need him to help me get the rest of the Old Bill off my back.’
‘You’re still not going to tell me how, are you?’
‘Nope, so stop asking me.’
‘It’ll be good when you can relax a bit more. It can’t be easy worrying all the time that the Old Bill are going to cart you back off to prison.’
Georgina bit on her bottom lip. No, it wasn’t easy living in constant fear of being captured. The thought of going back to Holloway plagued her night and day, but especially when she was alone in the dark. She’d be reminded of the endless loneliness she’d felt. The helplessness at not being able to help those unfortunate women who were so callously downtrodden by the vicious
wardens. Charlotte didn’t know the half of it. The girl had no idea that since Georgina had escaped, she would cry herself to sleep. She’d pull a pillow over her head to try and blot out the memory of the harrowing sounds of the prison. She’d bite into that pillow to try and stop the depressing feelings from overwhelming her. But more often than not, she couldn’t control the fear.
‘Are you all right?’ Charlotte asked.
Georgina nodded but couldn’t speak, worried that if she opened her mouth, she’d scream, or worse than that, she’d sob her heart out.
‘You’re not, are you?’
Georgina tried to stop the tears from falling but they came anyway.
‘Oh, gawd, Georgina, what is it?’ Charlotte asked, looking concerned.
‘Nothing, it’s nothing,’ she answered, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘It’s just that place. It gets to you. It gets under your skin and you can’t get rid of it. I know I should put it behind me but… the things I saw… the…’ Georgina paused and composed herself. ‘Take no notice. I’m fine.’
They heard a car pull up outside and Charlotte went to the window.
‘It’s Johnny,’ she said.
‘Tell him to bring the paintings straight in here. Tim should be deeply asleep by now. And not a word to anyone ever about what you just saw.’
Moments later, Charlotte came back into the room, her eyes wide and lips pulled back.
‘What?’ Georgina asked, fearing bad news from the look on Charlotte’s face.
‘I’ll, erm, let Johnny explain.’
Johnny came into the room next, carrying some of the paintings wrapped in blankets.
‘Put them in Charlotte’s room,’ Georgina said. ‘Then you’d better tell me why Charlotte looks horrified.’
She saw Johnny swallow hard and could tell from his jumpy demeanour that he was nervous. But the fact that he had the paintings indicated the job had gone well. Ned and Nobby followed in with more artwork, tipping their hats at her as they passed her. They looked nervous too and she wondered what on earth was going on.
‘Spit it out,’ she told Johnny when he returned to the room.
Ned and Nobby stood behind him, Nobby looking down and scuffing the floor with his big boots, just like a naughty schoolboy would do.
Johnny lit a cigar, blowing smoke in the air before saying, ‘It went well. We got every painting on Lord Hamilton’s list.’
‘But?’
‘But we accrued a bit extra.’
‘I see. Well, whatever else you took, split it between the four of you.’
‘Erm, no, not that sort of extra.’
‘What sort of extra then?’
‘Well, it ain’t just the four of us. Five came back in the car.’
‘Who?’ Georgina asked, her hackles rising.
‘Augustus Rice.’
‘Are you kidding me? There’s a fucking copper living just there,’ she spat, pointing towards Tim’s flat. ‘And you’ve brought home the man you robbed. For fuck’s sake, Johnny, why did you do that? What if he talks?’
‘He won’t be doing much talking… ever.’
‘He’s dead?’
‘Yeah.’
Georgina slumped back on the sofa as she realised they’d murdered Augustus Rice. Her mind raced. She’d only recently escaped from prison and already she had a death on her hands. Although furious, she kept her voice at an even tone and asked, ‘Why did you bring a body back with you?’
‘I thought it was for the best. If I’d left him there, the police would eventually discover his body. At least with him here and buried in the cellar, he’ll just be missing and though they might suspect foul play, there’s nothing to prove it. There’s nothing to point to us.’
Georgina sighed. She supposed Johnny’s reasoning did sort of make sense. ‘You’d better bring him in. Then tomorrow, once Tim is at work, I want you back round here pronto to bury him in the basement and bring whatever you need to conceal him.’
‘Yes, Miss Garrett. I’ll take the car away now and clean it up,’ Johnny said and went to hurry away.
‘Wait…’
Johnny stopped in the doorway.
‘I gave you specific instructions not to kill him. Why did you disobey me?’
‘It weren’t like that, Miss Garrett. It was an accident. He fell over and bashed his head.’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘So why does my car need cleaning?’
‘He, erm, came back from the dead.’
Ned piped up, saying with a chortle, ‘Yeah, frightened the fucking life out of Nobby.’
Nobby elbowed Ned in the ribs, telling him, ‘Shut up.’
Georgina smiled. Seeing the men exchanging a bit of banter like this reminded her of the old days before she’d been incarcerated. But as heartwarming as the feeling was, it was never far from her mind that she wanted the blood of The Top to be spilled on English soil. And when it was, she’d make sure that his body would never return home to Ireland.
12
Jacob Flowers had been satisfied at the outcome of the meeting with Temi Zammit, the son of the head of the notorious West End gang. Temi was willing to negotiate but had set the proviso that he wanted to be introduced to Miss Garrett. Jacob had tried to talk the man out of it, saying that Miss Garrett wasn’t the elegant beauty he’d been expecting and was more of a man than a woman. None the less, Temi had insisted and Jacob had agreed to arrange it.
Now back in his office, he perused yesterday’s newspaper as he waited for Elsie to bring him his lunch. His wife had been a disappointment of late and he’d expressed his displeasure by cutting off her spending money and disciplining her with her bible. He found a good whack around the head with the heavy book saved him damaging his hands on her. And how ironic, he thought and smiled, that the book that was filled with God’s love would be the same book that punished her.
He scanned the front page of the Evening Standard. Black out at five twenty-one in the evening until eight-thirty in the morning. Churchill is ill and has developed pneumonia. The Russians close on Smyela. Jacob had no idea where Smyela was or what its significance was in the war, and neither did he care. Bombers had knocked out enemy communications through the Brenner Pass. War, war, war. He was bored of it.
Elsie came into the office carrying a tray which she placed on his desk. He looked at the meal she’d prepared with the extra beef he’d acquired from Temi Zammit. His mouth salivated at the sight of the juicy looking steak. Thanks to his questionable contacts, rationing hadn’t affected their larder. As he cut into his steak, looking forward to seeing the blood ooze from the meat and onto his plate, he frowned when he realised that the steak was overcooked.
‘You useless woman!’ he screeched. ‘This steak isn’t rare. It’s practically incinerated.’
His eyes shot to the corner of the room where his wife sat. He glared at her accusingly as she trembled in her seat. ‘This isn’t fit for a dog to eat. Take it away,’ he ordered.
Elsie jumped to his command and went to pick up the tray. As she did, he grabbed her wrist, gripping it hard. With his eyes now fixed on the steak, a thought crossed his mind. ‘How did you manage to overcook this? Was your mind on something else? Were you thinking about another man?’ he asked, his voice calm, concealing his internal rage.
‘No, Jacob, not at all. I must have had the gas too high. I’m sorry, I’ll cook you a fresh steak.’
Jacob squeezed her wrist harder. ‘And waste good food?’
‘It won’t go to waste. I’ll have that steak for my supper this evening.’
‘Yes, you will,’ he said. ‘And you’ll eat it from the floor like an animal would. Take it away.’
Once he’d released his grip, Elsie picked up the tray with shaking hands. Once again, she’d dissatisfied him. She wasn’t trying her best to be a good wife and he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew why.
‘Stop,’ he commanded before she left his office.
Elsie stood still, her back rod-s
traight.
‘Come back here,’ he said.
She turned around and walked hesitantly towards him but she wouldn’t meet his scrutinising gaze. Now he was sure she was hiding something.
‘Empty the tray on the side and bring it here,’ he said.
Elsie complied and when she handed him the wooden tray, Jacob quickly scraped his chair back and jumped to his feet. His sudden movement caused Elsie to flinch and at the same time, Jacob swept his arm through the air, smashing the tray against her head. The force of the blow knocked her sideways and onto the floor.
‘What did you and Mr Dymond discuss at the door the other day?’ he asked as she lay whimpering.
‘Nothing, Jacob, nothing. We didn’t speak,’ she answered weakly.
‘LIAR!’
‘I swear on the Holy Bible, no words were exchanged between us.’
‘Get up.’
Elsie rose to her feet unsteadily and Jacob noticed her cheek was hugely swollen. This wouldn’t do! Christmas Eve was less than one week away and she’d already invited the elders from her church to join them for carol singing around the piano. They were sure to notice her bruising.
‘Come with me,’ he said, leading her into the main house.
He walked her to the top of the stairs where he loosened a piece of carpet. ‘Wait here.’ He said, pointing to the top step before he descended the staircase. Standing at the bottom and looking up, he smiled wryly, telling Elsie, ‘Jump.’
She looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Throw yourself down the stairs.’
‘But… I can’t, Jacob. Please…’
‘Throw yourself down, woman, or I shall come up there and push you.’
‘No, Jacob… please… please…’
‘Fine, have it your way,’ he mumbled as he trudged back up the stairs.
Elsie held onto the bannister. ‘Please don’t do this,’ she begged as he unpeeled her fingers from the handrail.
‘I take no pleasure from this,’ he lied, ‘but you need to have an unfortunate accident which will render you unable to host for our guests on Christmas Eve.’
Elsie screamed but her pleas did nothing to abate Jacob’s determination. She wriggled and writhed which further frustrated him. He got behind her and with his arms around her waist, lifted her enough from the floor to launch her down the stairs.
