A Bespoke Murder ihmasjk-1

by Edward Marston

  ‘You can rely on me, Harv.’

  When they’d settled down, Keedy described his visit to the Lord Nelson and gave his assessment of the organisation. He felt that it had serious intentions and was untroubled by inhibitions of any kind. Whether or not it had been involved in any of the incidents under scrutiny, he was not sure, but he got the impression that the two men he met were more than capable of violent action. The scruffy pub that was its unofficial headquarters had made him think that the group was short of money and poorly supported. In fact, as he came to realise, the Lord Nelson was at the heart of an area in the East End where it was most likely to find recruits. People like Brad who lived cheek by jowl with Jewish immigrants were seething with resentment at their growing numbers and influence. He wanted his country to be reserved solely for those who were, in his opinion, truly British.

  ‘Then it’s no coincidence that they chose a pub called the Lord Nelson,’ noted Marmion. ‘Horatio Nelson was a British hero who kept hated foreigners at bay.’

  ‘I never thought of that,’ admitted Keedy. ‘It wouldn’t be quite the same if they met at the Black Bear or the Railway Inn.’

  ‘Where does their money come from?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘They get contributions from bigots who think like them, I daresay. The one chap spoke about an anonymous donation large enough to buy a lorry.’ He showed the leaflet to Marmion. ‘And they print this sort of inflammatory stuff in large quantities. I’m told they have a sizeable fighting fund at their disposal.’

  ‘Did they give you their names?’

  ‘One was called Brad and he was clearly just a foot soldier. The other man pulls the strings. Like me, he chose to conceal his name.’

  ‘And you say that he had an educated voice?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Keedy. ‘He spoke well, whereas Brad sounded as if he had a brain the size of a pea. He’s the sort of character who talks best with his fists. His boss was very different. In fact,’ he said, as the idea dawned on him, ‘if you took away his suit and put him in a pair of dungarees, he’d answer the description of the man seen with the petrol can at the fire in Jermyn Street.’

  He broke off as Ellen arrived with the tea. She put the tray down and told her husband to take charge of pouring. Then she gazed at Keedy with a blend of curiosity and wistfulness. After she’d left, he remarked upon it.

  ‘That was a funny look Ellen just gave me.’

  ‘It’s much better than the hostile ones I was getting earlier, Joe. Hell hath no fury like a wife who thinks her husband isn’t supporting her in the way she expects.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. I’ll stay single.’

  ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me,’ said Marmion. ‘I’m all in favour of marriage. I love it. But it does have its moments of turbulence.’ He started to pour the tea. ‘How does this group differ from the others that our lads have been watching?’

  ‘It’s smaller, more extreme and wilder in its denunciation of the Jews. If it ever got into power — God forbid! — it would initiate a series of pogroms. As it is,’ said Keedy, ‘the League is restricted to more modest targets.’

  ‘Do you think that Jacob Stein’s shop could be one of them?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, Harv. They gave very little away.’

  ‘Are you going back on Friday?’

  ‘I can’t wait.’ He took a cup of tea from Marmion. ‘Thanks.’

  While he poured his own tea, Marmion told him about his conversation with Sir Edward Henry and how the commissioner believed that the inspector had finally worked out how the murder must have been committed. There was something else to tell Keedy.

  ‘You know that I’ve put David Cohen under observation,’ said Marmion. ‘Well, it’s produced an interesting result.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘He was seen boarding a train to Brighton.’

  ‘That’s where Howard Fine lives.’

  ‘There’s no guarantee that Cohen is going to meet him, of course. It seems unlikely. We won’t know the details of his visit until the man shadowing him gets back. But, if the two of them are in cahoots, it would explain a lot.’

  ‘What about Cyril Burridge?’

  ‘Oh, he’s not linked to either of them. He disliked Cohen and despised Fine. In fact, I think you’d be hard put to find someone whom Burridge actually admires. There’s iron in that man’s soul.’

  ‘How did it get there, Harv?’

  ‘Search me,’ said Marmion. ‘I’m just glad that I don’t have to work alongside someone as dour and unfriendly as that. Yet, by all accounts, Burridge is a happy family man, so he must be a different person at home. He lives with his wife and son, who — you won’t be surprised to hear — is also a tailor. There’s a daughter as well but she married and moved to Lincoln. There may turn out to be a connection between Cohen and Fine but I can safely say that neither of them would ever have been invited to the Burridge abode.’

  They drank their tea and reviewed the case in detail. Keedy was about to offer a suggestion when they were interrupted by the sound of loud voices in the kitchen. Marmion was on his feet at once.

  ‘The debate is still going on,’ he said with a tired smile. ‘I’d better separate the combatants before they come to blows.’

  ‘Why not send Alice in here? If she’s looking for a flat, I may be able to give her one or two ideas.’

  ‘I won’t say that in front of Ellen or she’ll explode. But, yes, I will send Alice in for a chat. She needs to calm down as well.’

  Marmion went out and the argument quickly subsided. Keedy finished his tea and put the cup back in the saucer. A moment later, Alice came into the room, distinctly shamefaced.

  ‘I’m sorry about that noise, Joe. It was my fault.’

  ‘You want to move on, I gather.’

  ‘Mummy’s trying to keep me here,’ said Alice, ‘but I’ve reached the stage when I need to live on my own.’

  ‘I know that feeling very well.’

  ‘By rights, I should have gone years ago.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said.’

  She peered at him. ‘By the way, why are you dressed up like that?’

  ‘I’m a storeman at a factory in Kent. At least, I was until I got the sack for trying to stir up trouble.’ Alice was perplexed. ‘I’m not serious. It was a story I had to invent to win somebody’s confidence.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘I hope so,’ he said, ‘or I could be in extremely hot water on Friday. But let’s put that aside and talk about you. Ideally, what sort of area would you like to live in?’

  ‘I haven’t got that far yet, Joe. The way I’m feeling at the moment, I want to get out of London altogether.’

  ‘This row with your mother has really upset you, hasn’t it?’

  ‘We both flew off the handle,’ she confessed. ‘I suppose that I’m to blame. I was so angry that I even threatened to leave the country altogether. I said that I’d go to the front as a nurse or something.’

  ‘Hey, hold on,’ he said. ‘Don’t you desert me as well.’

  When she realised what she’d just said, her cheeks coloured slightly. She’d forgotten that Keedy’s girlfriend had been a nurse and had left him to go to Flanders. Alice felt awkward but Keedy was not offended. He was feasting his eyes on her. The glow in her cheeks only added to her appeal. A slow smile spread across his features.

  ‘I won’t let you go abroad, Alice,’ he said, softly. ‘I like having you here. To be frank, I like it very much indeed.’

  Dorothy Holdstock was in a dilemma. If she admitted that she’d met Ernie Gill, her sister would demand to know why she’d kept the information a secret for so long. On the other hand, if she didn’t tell Irene about what Gill had said, she would be misleading her about the man. He’d lied about his mother’s name to one or both of them. It was obviously a trick he used to ingratiate himself with people. Dorothy reproached herself for being so easily taken in. What was the real reason he’d followed he
r? And how did he know where she worked? She knew that Irene had not told him the address of her shoe shop. How had he found it out? There was another concern. Gill had clearly not meant to be caught trailing her. If she had not sensed his presence, how long would he have continued to dog her footsteps?

  Not for the first time, she wished that she’d not been so naive, so ready to believe a man for the simple reason that he paid her a compliment. Gill was a plausible rogue. In essence, that’s what Irene had been telling her all along. She had the sense to keep him at a distance whereas Dorothy had succumbed to his easy charm at their very first encounter. Instead of upbraiding him for daring to follow her, she’d ended up admiring him. She was being used. That was the point of it all. Gill had conceived such a passion for Irene that he was using her sister as a means of getting closer to her. He’d pressed her for details of what Irene had said about him. She was the only reason that he’d moved to London. After failing to woo her at sea, he was pursuing her on dry land.

  Irene deserved to be warned but that could only happen if her sister confessed that she’d been deceiving her. Dorothy could simply not do that somehow. It would break the trust between them. It would also expose Dorothy as the impressionable and inexperienced woman that she was. Gill was cunning. In telling her to keep a secret, he’d made her his accessory. He’d won her over. Now that he’d been exposed as a liar, she felt that she’d betrayed her sister. Did she tell Irene the truth or did she remain silent? It was an agonising decision.

  Ruth Stein had read somewhere that criminals always returned to the scene of the crime. Yet she was a victim. It simply did not make sense. Because of the vile memories it held for her, she had every reason to avoid Jermyn Street. What had taken her back there? The remains of the shop were illumined by the street lamp nearby. The place looked forlorn and abandoned. It was impossible to believe that it had once been a vibrant business. Ruth’s gaze flicked upwards to take in the office where she and her father had been when the attack started. It was there that he’d met his death, although the full details had been kept from her. There was no glass in the two windows and the frames had been burnt to extinction. Her stomach lurched at the thought of her father’s body being consumed by flames.

  She had no idea how she’d got to the West End and only a dim memory of how she’d escaped from the house. Now that she was there, however, she began to discern a purpose in the visit. It was an act of confrontation, a determination to stand up to a terrible event instead of letting it dominate her. All that Ruth had wanted to do at first was hide her shame. Unable to cope with what had happened to her, she’d even considered suicide. That had been unforgivable and she’d sought ways to redeem herself. Facing up to her ordeal was, she dimly perceived, part of the answer. But it was something that she had to do on her own. If her mother or her uncle had taken her there, it would not have been the same.

  The rape had diminished her as a person. Having the courage to return to the place where it happened, she felt, was the first stage in the process of growth. Ruth had to rediscover her confidence and redefine herself as a young woman. She refused to spend the rest of her life cowering before a gruesome event. She had to get beyond it. Without realising it, her brother had helped. Daniel would be told the details of what had occurred that night. She didn’t want him to come home and find her whimpering in her room. He’d be devastated that she’d tried to end her life but she might win back his love and respect if she demonstrated some spirit. In joining the army, her brother had shown bravery. It was time for Ruth to show a different sort of bravery, to prove that she could face a hideous experience in her past without flinching.

  She walked to the rear of the building and stood beside the entrance to the alley. It was in shadow now. Only yards away from where she’d been assaulted, she wanted to walk to the exact spot but she began to falter. Ugly memories filled her head and her eyes misted over for a second. When she could see clearly, the alley was still there and so was the challenge. Ruth had to walk up it in defiance, as a means of boldly facing her attackers. Hands bunched tightly and with her heart beating like a drum, she took a first tentative step then a second, longer one. Though she was shaking all over, she went on with quickening strides, past the site of the rape and on to the end of the alley. The sense of achievement was thrilling and she felt a surge of power coursing through her. Ruth had gained a sense of control.

  When she turned round, however, her elation evaporated. A figure had appeared at the other end of the alley, blocking her way. He was only there for an instant. In fact, he vanished so swiftly that she wondered if she’d really seen him. No longer afraid, she went back down the alley and out into the street. She felt proud of what she’d done but the fleeting encounter stayed in her mind. It was strange. Though she’d only glimpsed the figure in silhouette, she felt that she somehow knew the man.

  It was two years since the Criminal Record Office had come into being. Initiated in 1869 and modified in 1871, it had originally been called the Habitual Criminals Register and was a list of all offenders who’d been convicted and imprisoned. Details were kept of their appearance, their crimes, their sentences and the dates of their discharge from various prisons. Photographs were a vital component of the records and, since 1901, fingerprints were also retained, thanks to the man who was now the commissioner. It was during his time as Inspector General of the Bengal Police that Edward Henry, as he then was, realised the importance that fingerprinting could hold in the fight against crime. His book, Classification and Uses of Finger Prints, had been adopted as a guide by the Indian Government and had led to the setting up in Britain of the Fingerprint Bureau.

  ‘Where would we be without Sir Edward?’ asked Marmion, looking at a set of fingerprints. ‘He made our job a lot easier when he reminded us that each of us has a unique set of fingerprints.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keedy, ‘a set of dabs can be a great help.’

  ‘Not that they’re any use to us now, Joe. What you need is a nice clear photograph of him — assuming that he does have a criminal record, of course.’

  ‘I’m certain he does, Inspector. You get a feeling about some people and Brad was one of them. He’s seen the inside of a prison.’

  ‘And he may well do so again.’

  The two men were seated behind Marmion’s desk as they leafed through the records. It was painstaking work but Keedy insisted that it would pay dividends. He was keen to identify the bald man whom he’d met at the Lord Nelson. All that they had to go on was a first name and a hunch but Marmion had learnt to trust his colleague’s hunches. As he turned over another page, he remembered Keedy’s visit to the house the previous evening.

  ‘What did you say to Alice?’ he asked.

  ‘We had a pleasant chat, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, she was in a lovely mood this morning. And she was much more tactful with Ellen. Every time her mother tried to start an argument, Alice managed to calm her down.’

  ‘I don’t think I can claim any credit,’ said Keedy.

  ‘You perked my daughter up, I know that.’

  ‘I simply told her she was making the right decision.’

  ‘She’d need more than that to lift her spirits.’

  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.’

  ‘Wh
at 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.’