As the evening wore on, Keedy became less and less interested in Croft and more and more desperate to see Alice. She’d provide a refreshing distraction from the escape of a prisoner and the disappearance of the man he’d once tried to kill by setting fire to his house. When he got back to Scotland Yard, Keedy first shut the door of the office then he courted a stern reprimand by using the telephone to make a personal telephone call. After a short wait, he heard Ellen Marmion’s voice at the other end of the line.
‘Is that you, Harvey?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Keedy. ‘It’s me, Ellen. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Look, this is a long shot. I just wondered if you had any idea where Alice was this evening.’
‘Yes, Joe. As a matter of fact, she’s right here.’
‘Wonderful!’ he cried. ‘At last, I’ve got something to show for all my efforts today. Put her on, please.’
Seconds later, Alice spoke to him. She was pleased and excited.
‘Where are you, Joe?’
‘I’m breaking a golden rule because I love you,’ he said. ‘This telephone is strictly for police business.’
‘We’re both in the police force, aren’t we? This is police business.’
‘I need to see you, Alice.’
‘That would be marvellous – when and where?’
‘It will have to be rather late.’
‘I don’t care if it’s the other side of midnight,’ she said, laughing. ‘Name a time and place and I’ll be there. As it happens, I need your advice, Joe.’
‘What about?’
‘It’s Paul – he’s getting worse.’
Alone in his bedroom, Paul Marmion sat on a chair with a notepad perched on his knee. Using a pencil, he drew a portrait slowly and carefully, occasionally pausing to examine it critically and, if it didn’t meet his standards, using a rubber to erase a particular feature. He was far too engrossed in his work to hear his sister’s shouted farewell or to catch the sound of the front door opening and shutting. After shading in the area behind the head, he held the portrait up to the light. Since he had no real skill as an artist, it was a crude piece of work but he flattered himself that he’d caught the essence of his subject. The pigtails, in particular, were a masterpiece.
Crossing the room, he used a drawing pin to fix the paper to his dartboard, then he retreated a few yards. He picked up the darts on the bedside table and sized up his target. With a malevolent smile, he hurled the first dart and was delighted when it landed exactly on the spot he’d aimed at.
Sally Redwood looked woefully back at him, a dart embedded in her forehead.
He took aim again.
‘I don’t think it’s necessary at this stage, Inspector.’
‘I urge you to think again, sir.’
‘You’ve heard my decision and that’s final.’
‘But it’s our best way of finding Hubbard,’ argued Marmion. ‘Miss Rogers is a close friend. Instinct tells me that she’s the first person he’d turn to.’
‘I need rather more than your instinct to authorise additional expenditure,’ said Chatfield, introducing a peremptory note. ‘As you well know, we have to work within a budget and our manpower is already stretched.’
‘We need to put a pair of eyes on Maisie Rogers, sir.’
‘It would cost too much money.’
‘So what do we do – just sit back and wait for Hubbard to commit murder? That’s what will happen, Superintendent. Ben Croft will end up on a slab and you’ll be grilled by the press for letting it happen.’
‘Don’t tell me my job, Marmion.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of doing so.’
‘You seem to have forgotten that you applied for this post as well,’ said Chatfield with a thin smile. ‘I was chosen over you because I was deemed to have all the appropriate skills and experience.’
‘Nobody disputes that, sir.’
‘Then have due respect for my superior rank.’
Marmion smarted under the rebuke. It was true that they’d been rivals for the position of superintendent and Marmion had, in fact, been the slight favourite. As time passed, however, he’d come to realise how much he enjoyed the job he already had, heading a murder investigation and getting out in the field. As a superintendent, he’d have more power and a larger income but most of his time would be spent either behind a desk or at a series of interminable meetings. Thriving on action, Marmion decided that he didn’t actually want the promotion and he deliberately bungled the interview. Unaware of the fact, Claude Chatfield believed that he’d been selected because of his superior ability and he loved to hold the whip over Marmion. It meant that there was always an unresolved tension between them.
‘Hubbard has two problems,’ said Chatfield. ‘The first one is that he has to stay out of sight. We’re not the only ones involved in the manhunt. We’ve appealed for the help of the public as well. Hubbard’s photograph is on the front page of every newspaper. That will force him to be very cautious.’
‘Wally Hubbard is a man who’s prepared to take chances.’
‘My bet is that he’ll lie low for a while.’
‘I’d never put money on him doing that, sir.’
‘His second problem is the bigger one. He has to find Ben Croft. All we have to do is to locate Croft before he does and the game is up.’
‘Does that mean you’re offering Croft police protection, sir?’ asked Marmion with a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘He’ll need at least two officers guarding him twenty-four hours a day, so you’d have to work out a rota. That could be expensive.’
‘You’re being very irksome today,’ said Chatfield with a sigh. ‘We simply take Croft away from London altogether and put him somewhere safe.’
‘But nowhere is safe,’ insisted Marmion. ‘That’s the point about Hubbard. If he’s clever enough to plot an escape from Pentonville, he’ll be able to sniff his way to his victim in time. It’s rather more than we’ve managed to do so far,’ he admitted. ‘I spoke to Sergeant Keedy before I came in here and the search for Mr Croft has been fruitless. If we’re to get to him first, we need more officers at our disposal.’
‘You already have an adequate number.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘Correctly deployed,’ said Chatfield, airily, ‘your detectives should have tracked him down by now.’
‘Mr Croft has read about the escape, sir. What would you do in his position?’
‘I’d turn to the police, of course.’
‘He doesn’t trust us,’ Marmion reminded him. ‘The arson attack did not come entirely out of the blue. Ben Croft had already reported that he’d received a death threat from Hubbard. We took no action to verify that threat.’
‘We would have done so in due course.’
‘That was too late, sir. Wally Hubbard struck before we could intervene. Croft learnt his lesson. He has to ensure his own safety.’
‘We did that when we arrested Hubbard,’ said Chatfield, refusing to concede that the police had been in any way at fault. ‘We can’t be blamed for his escape. That responsibility falls on the staff at Pentonville.’
‘The long and the short of it, sir, is that Croft has no faith in us.’
‘Then we’ll have to give him a reason to do so.’
‘The best possible reason is the prompt recapture of Wally Hubbard. That, in my view, will be more easily achieved if we put Miss Rogers under surveillance.’
Chatfield slapped the desk. ‘It’s out of the question.’
‘I’ve spoken to the woman, sir. She’s the key figure here.’
‘You heard my decision.’
‘That doesn’t mean I have to agree with it, Superintendent.’
‘If you wish to make a formal complaint against me,’ warned the other, ‘I’ll take you off the case and hand it over to someone with a clearer understanding of the structure of power within the Metropolitan Police. Is that what you want?�
��
‘I want to catch Hubbard and save Croft’s life,’ said Marmion, seriously. ‘I have a stake in this investigation and I’ll not yield control of it to anybody. I’d just like to put on record that we will need additional manpower at some time in the future. This case will not be resolved quickly unless I can have Miss Rogers shadowed wherever she goes.’
‘I’m not convinced that she’s involved in any way, Inspector.’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Has it ever occurred to you that you may be wrong for once?’
‘I’m often wrong,’ confessed Marmion, ‘but not in this case. I’d put my pension on the fact that Wally Hubbard is being helped by Maisie Rogers.’
‘This should be enough,’ said Felix Browne, handing over an envelope with a wad of banknotes inside it. He held up a key. ‘And you’d better give him this as well.’
‘What is it?’
‘It will get him into an empty property of mine in Islington. Wally will know where it is. Nobody will find him there.’
‘Thank you, Mr Browne. Is there any message for him?’
‘Just wish him good luck.’
‘I will,’ said Maisie.
She walked briskly off into the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The owner of the cafe was just about to close it for the night when they got there. Recognising Keedy, he let them in, pulled down the blinds then served them light refreshments. Left to themselves, they sat either side of a little table covered by a check cloth with tea stains on it. The cafe had few refinements but they were warm and they were together at last. Alice rubbed her knees against Keedy’s.
‘What’s all this about Paul?’ he asked.
‘Mummy is at her wits’ end.’
‘Is he really getting worse?’
‘You can judge for yourself.’
Measuring her words, Alice gave him a shortened account of her clash with her brother, then described some of the incidents she’d heard about from her mother. Keedy could hear the mingled anger and anxiety in her voice.
‘As his sister,’ she said, ‘I should love Paul, but he makes it very difficult sometimes. Mummy admitted to me that there are moments when she hates him and that must be a horrible feeling for any mother.’
‘It’s almost as if he has a destructive streak in him.’
‘He’s so wilful. You just can’t reason with Paul.’
‘I’d be more likely to give him a clip around the ear,’ said Keedy. ‘You were in a terrible state when I picked you up. I’m not letting anyone upset you like that, Alice, even if he is your brother.’
‘Mummy is the one who suffers the most.’
‘I know. Your father’s always complaining that he isn’t at home enough. And whenever he does get back, he has to listen to the latest litany of woes.’
‘Talking to Paul is like walking through a minefield.’
‘You’d have expected the army to have done more to sort him out.’
‘He’s still under the supervision of a doctor for his eyesight.’
‘It’s not his eyes that are the problem,’ he suggested. ‘It’s his mind. It’s been warped by what happened to him. Paul is so wrapped up with himself that he can’t be bothered to be civil to anyone – even the members of his own family.’
‘I don’t know how much longer it can go on like this.’
They paused to sip their tea and nibble at a biscuit. Alice made an effort to cheer up. She reached across the table and squeezed his arm.
‘It’s wonderful to see you, Joe,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to dump our problems on you like that. Let’s forget about Paul, shall we? Mummy told me that you’re trying to recapture that escaped prisoner. Have you made any progress?’
‘No, Alice. To be honest, we haven’t. Hubbard is very elusive.’
‘Isn’t he the one who gave you that black eye?’
‘Yes,’ he replied with a chuckle, ‘but he got a few cracked ribs in return, so I felt that I came off best. While your father is trying to catch Hubbard, I’ve got the job of finding the man he’s sworn to kill – Ben Croft. So far I’ve got nowhere.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Heaven knows!’
‘Somebody must know where he is.’
‘Well, they’re not ready to tell me, Alice. You’ve no idea how many false trails we’ve followed. It’s maddening. We’re on his side, after all. We’re trying to keep the man alive but Croft has covered his tracks far too well.’
‘Why should he want to do that?’
‘You tell me.’
‘He had no cause to disappear,’ said Alice, thinking it through. ‘The man who wanted to kill him had been convicted and imprisoned. His intended victim was no longer in danger because Hubbard was serving a very long sentence.’
‘He chose to shorten it dramatically.’
‘Yes, but Mr Croft didn’t know that was going to happen. He can’t just have disappeared in the wake of the escape.’
‘He didn’t, Alice. There have been no sightings of him for weeks. He’s not just hiding from Wally Hubbard. He seems to be hiding from everybody.’
‘I wish that Paul would do that. Oh,’ she exclaimed, putting a hand to her lips, ‘that’s a dreadful thing to say about my own brother and I take it back. I should be trying to help him, not wishing that the problem would just go away of its own accord. He’s our responsibility.’
‘At the moment, he’s a ton weight around your neck.’
‘It certainly feels like it sometimes, Joe. Do you know what upsets me most?’
‘What?’
‘Paul has no respect for any of us. His manner is so contemptuous. And it’s not only us. There was a time when he looked up to Uncle Raymond. As a boy, he almost idolised him. Paul admired what he was trying to do in the Salvation Army.’
‘I’ve seen Raymond’s work at first-hand, Alice. He does an amazing job.’
‘And he’s the nicest man in the world.’
‘Are you saying he’s even nicer than me?’ asked Keedy with mock indignation.
‘Nobody can compare with you, Joe,’ she said, stroking his arm, ‘but there is something special about Uncle Raymond. He’s the nearest I’ll ever get to meeting a saint.’
Raymond Marmion had the same solid frame and the same pleasant, open face as his brother. Younger than Harvey Marmion by a few years, he had far less hair and it seemed to be receding visibly. At that moment, his head was covered in a peaked cap that matched his uniform. He was out on one of his usual night-time patrols in the East End, looking for people sleeping rough. One of the men with him carried a large pot of hot soup. On a cold night, it would be especially welcome. Raymond’s wife, Lily, was at his side, fiercely proud of her husband’s commitment to helping others and doing her best to emulate him. She was a tall, full-bodied woman in her forties who seemed to have been born in a Salvation Army uniform.
As they walked along the street, they glanced in every shop doorway to see if it had an occupant or two. When they reached the end of the row, they found someone curled up under a piece of rotting cardboard. He was wearing filthy clothes, a moth-eaten woolly hat and a tattered scarf. Raymond bent down to touch his shoulder. When there was no reaction, he shook the man.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Who are you?’ replied the other, curling up protectively. ‘Police?’
‘We’re from the Salvation Army.’
‘We’ve brought you some hot soup,’ said Lily, bending over him. ‘Would you like some?’
The man sat up and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Some of the group held lanterns. In the flickering light, the man looked at them. Sensing kindness, he was about to accept the offer of the soup when he began to cough uncontrollably. Raymond tried to pat him on the back but that had no effect at all. He was a slight individual in his thirties with tousled hair and a straggly beard. Lily could see that he’d been a handsome man at one time but was now stricken with ill health. After a cou
ple of minutes, he finally stopped coughing.
‘He needs more than a bowl of soup, Raymond,’ she said.
‘I think you’re right.’
‘Let’s take him back to the hostel.’
‘You’re coming with us, my friend,’ said her husband, bending over the man before scooping him up and standing him on his feet. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll have something to drink.’
‘Thank you,’ croaked the man.
When the bowl of soup was poured and given to him, he held it in both hands and sipped noisily. They gathered round him to shield him from the wind. He took his time to finish the soup then handed back the bowl with a smile of thanks.
‘We’re taking you to somewhere warm,’ said Lily.
‘I see. Thank you.’
‘You’ll have a good night’s sleep for once,’ added Raymond. ‘You look as if you need it. What’s your name?’
The man didn’t seem to have heard him. Instead of replying, he bent down to pick up a battered briefcase from under the cardboard and held it to his chest.
‘We need to call you something,’ said Lily, gently. ‘What will it be?’
There was a long pause as the man looked around the ring of faces.
‘It’s David,’ he said at length. ‘My name is David.’
Breakfast was eaten in almost total silence. Ellen knew better than to expect a conversation with her son and, in some ways, she was grateful. Since he hardly ever spoke without managing to upset her, she found that it was preferable if he said nothing at all. If he’d been more amenable to a chat, she’d have asked him why he spent so much time playing darts in his room the previous night. She heard the darts thudding into the board time and again. When she’d first met his father, she recalled, Marmion played in a darts team at the local pub. The first great test of his affection for her came when she’d asked him to resign from the team in order to spend more time with her. After wrestling with his decision, Marmion had agreed.
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