Anarchy

by Olivier Bosman

As he headed downstairs, he saw an elegant lady standing by the reception desk. She had her back turned towards him.

  “Miss Olexa,” Billings said, approaching her.

  She turned around to face him. Her eyes were red with tears.

  “Is it true?” she asked.

  Billings placed his hand on her back and tried ushering her away from the reception area.

  “Come with me to one of the interview rooms. We can talk there.”

  Olexa brushed his hand away. “Answer my question! Is it true? Is he dead?”

  Billings became aware that clerks, officers and visitors were staring at them. It wasn’t usual for an elegant lady of Olexa’s class to be seen alone in a police station. Lawyers, husbands or butlers usually did their dealings for them.

  “Come on now. We’ll talk about this in one of the interview rooms. People are watching.”

  He put his hand on her lower back and led her to an interview room.

  “How did you learn about Joseph’s death?” he asked, closing the door to the office.

  “I read the paper like everyone else. Where is he?”

  “He’s in the morgue.”

  “Is it really him? Who identified him?”

  “I did.”

  “You?”

  “I met him before. I told you. Please sit down, Miss Olexa. I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Questions? What questions?”

  “Will you sit down, please.”

  The countess sat down at the desk. Billings took the seat opposite her.

  “Where were you between the hours of six in the evening and five o’clock this morning?”

  “Why are you asking me this?”

  “It’s a routine question, Miss Olexa. I have to ask everyone.”

  “I was at home. Bessie and the cook will vouch for me.”

  “Do you own a pistol?”

  “A pistol?”

  “Mr Hirsch was shot four times with a gun using a .44 Remington cartridge.”

  The countess sprang to her feet. “Stop these questions at once, do you hear me! I did not kill Joseph! You know I didn’t! Why on earth would I!” She burst into tears.

  Billings was satisfied with this reaction. “Very well, Miss Olexa. I will stop. Please sit down again.”

  The countess sat back down and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  Billings took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and handed it to her. “Do you have any idea who might have killed him?”

  “I don’t know, Detective Sergeant. I don’t know what sort of business Joseph was involved in. He was a controversial man, and I’m sure he must’ve had a lot of enemies. But whoever it was that killed him, I want him caught! I came here to offer a reward.” She opened her handbag and took out a chequebook and pen. “I want to give a two-thousand-pound reward to anyone who gives information that leads to the culprit.”

  “I don’t know if we can do that, Miss Olexa. I’d have to discuss it with my superior.”

  “Well, then do so! I want his killer caught and hanged as soon as possible!”

  9. Sponsor

  Enoch was sitting on the pavement when Billings returned home from work.

  “There he is,” he said, looking at the detective and grinning broadly. “The big man bringing home the bacon.”

  Billings smiled, although the joke did not amuse him. “How did the job hunt go?”

  Enoch shrugged. “Ah, you know…” He got up off the ground and squeezed Billings on the shoulder by way of a greeting.

  “It didn’t go well, then?” Billings asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you go to that construction site?”

  “They said they had no vacancies.”

  “Did you go to the steel factory?”

  “The same. It’s useless. As soon as they hear my accent, they lose interest.”

  “There are lots of Irish people working in construction and in factories.”

  “Well, they didn’t want me. But enough about me. How was your day?”

  Billings frowned and looked Enoch up and down. “Have you been drinking?”

  Enoch looked confused. “Why do you ask?”

  “I can smell alcohol on your breath.”

  “Well, I had a wee drink at the pub down the road. What’s wrong with that?”

  “How did you pay for the drink?”

  Enoch hung his head and shrugged.

  “You used the money I gave you for the omnibus, didn’t you?”

  Enoch kept his eyes to the ground and nodded.

  “You didn’t go looking for work at all, did you? You just stayed here and went to the pub.”

  “I’m sorry,” Enoch mumbled.

  “How’s your leg?”

  “Much better, thanks.”

  “Good. Then you can look after yourself again!”

  Billings turned his back on Enoch and walked angrily towards the door.

  Enoch looked on, confused. “Are you kicking me out?”

  “I don’t like being used.” Billings opened the door and entered the house. He was about to shut the door behind him, but Enoch blocked it with his foot.

  “It’s because of what Mrs Appleby said to you, isn’t it? I heard her talking about me to you. I was listening on the stairwell.”

  Billings didn’t reply.

  “Everything I told you about me is true. I swear. I really was born in Galway. And I really have only been in London for three weeks. But perhaps I have misled you about what happened in between.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not using you, John. Really, I’m not. But perhaps I’m not the person you think I am.”

  Billings stared silently at the Irishman. He continued to linger in the doorway, unsure of what to make of this new turn of events.

  “Why don’t we go for a drink at the George,” Enoch suggested. “Away from the prying ears of Mrs Appleby,” he added with a whisper.

  “I left Galway with my parents when I was three years old. We lived in Dublin for a year then moved to Liverpool. I suppose you thought I’d crossed the Irish Sea three weeks ago.”

  Enoch and Billings were sitting at a table in the George. Enoch hung his head and stared at his tankard as he spoke.

  Billings was still too angry to look Enoch in the eyes. He clung tightly to his glass of brandy and stared out of the window.

  “Why did you come to London?” he asked.

  “Because…” Enoch hesitated. “There aren’t any pubs like the Duke of Avondale in Liverpool.”

  “So you came to London because you’re…” Billings couldn’t think of the right word to complete the sentence.

  “I went to the Duke of Avondale to look for a sponsor.”

  Finally Billings turned to face Enoch. “A sponsor?”

  “Somebody who would put me up, and feed me, and keep me warm.”

  Billings turned back towards the window. “I see.”

  “That doesn’t mean I was using you. I was giving you something in return, wasn’t I? Affection, and companionship, and sex.”

  “Be quiet!” Billings looked around him to make sure that nobody had heard.

  “But I do like you.” Enoch finally lifted his head and looked Billings in the eyes. “You’re handsome and kind. I could even grow to love you.”

  “So all this time you saw me as a potential sponsor?”

  “That’s how it works, John. Even with married couples. If you think that most people marry each other for love, then you’re wrong. They want security, not love. It doesn’t mean I can’t grow to love you in due course.”

  “What if I don’t want to be a sponsor?” Billings uttered that last word with disdain.

  Enoch frowned. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have used that word. I just wanted to be honest with you.”

  “You weren’t honest with me when you lied to me about looking for work.”

  “I did mean to look for work, it’s just that…”

  “What?”
<
br />   “I grew weary of rejections.”

  “You didn’t even try.”

  “I have. But it’s almost impossible to find work when you have no residence. It’s the first thing they ask for. Where do you live? When they find out you live on the street, they tell you to clear off. That’s why I need a…”

  “A sponsor?”

  Enoch frowned again. “I just need somebody to help me find my feet in London. If you can do that, I’ll be your friend forever.”

  Billings didn’t reply.

  “Come on, John. Be my friend. You haven’t got many friends, I know that. That’s why you’re so tense all the time. You have no one to unburden your troubles on. But you can unburden them on me. Tell me about your work. I know your investigation isn’t going well. Tell me why that is?”

  “I can’t talk to you about work.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s confidential.”

  “You’re looking for the Hirsch brothers, aren’t you?”

  Billings looked up, surprised. “How do you know that?”

  “I read it in the newspaper. Your name is mentioned in it. You’re offering a reward for information on their whereabouts.”

  Billings raised his eyebrows.

  “What’s the matter? Did you think I couldn’t read?”

  “No, I…” Billings shook his head, embarrassed.

  “They’re offering a two-thousand-pound reward. That’s a lot of money. I could apply for it.”

  “Do you know where the Hirsch brothers are?”

  “No, but I could help you look for them. You could give me some details about your investigation, and I’ll take it from there. And if I get the reward, we’ll split the money. What do you think?”

  “That would be immoral.”

  “No one would know. And we could get our own apartment with that money. You could move away from that horrible Mrs Appleby…”

  “Mrs Appleby is not horrible.”

  “We could move in together. We could live like a married couple. Wake up next to each other every day.”

  Enoch certainly knew the right words to use. He had just described the very thing Billings had longed for all his life. His own home and somebody to share his life with. That is what Clarkson had. That was the reason why he was always so cheerful at work. It was the very thing that had attracted Billings to him.

  “I can’t give you details about the investigation, Enoch. It’s against the law.”

  Enoch hung his head, disappointed. “I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t being serious,” he mumbled.

  “This is what we’ll do.”

  Enoch raised his head and pricked up his ears.

  “I’ll put you up until you have a job,” Billings said. “And then…”

  Enoch waited anxiously for the end of that sentence. “And then what?”

  “And then we’ll see.”

  10. The Reward

  It were me mother in law.

  She crept out of the house with me gun, went to the cemetery and shot the poor bloke.

  That’s the third time this month!

  Please come and take her away.

  I’ll have me two thousand pounds in cash.

  Ta.

  Billings put the note down and sighed. “Why do we always do this? Why do we always turn to the public for information?”

  The office was crammed full with post bags. Piles of letters were stacked on and around Billings’ and Clarkson’s desks.

  Billings put the note back in the envelope and noticed the postage stamp. “It has even been stamped! Someone paid money just to send us this stupid prank!”

  “Do you reckon it’s worth it?” Clarkson asked. He was sitting at his desk, scanning through a letter.

  “Money talks, Clarkson. We should get something out of this. The problem is separating the wheat from the chaff.”

  “I’m making two different piles.” Clarkson pointed at three letters on his desk. “These letters are worth following up.” Then he pointed at a half-filled post bag by his feet. “And this is where I put the waste-of-time ones.”

  “Well, you can add this one to the rubbish bag.” Billings scrunched up the note and threw it at the post bag but missed.

  Clarkson shook his head. “You’re a lousy shot, Billings. You are clearly not a cricketer.”

  “I hate the game.”

  “How can you hate cricket?”

  “I hate sports in general.”

  “That´s why you’re always so morose. You need a little exercise to get your mood up. ’Ere, let me show you how it’s done.”

  Clarkson got off his chair, picked the scrunched-up note off the floor and walked towards the end of the room.

  “This is how you do it, Billings. Take a good look.”

  Clarkson held the ball of paper between his thumb, index finger and ring finger. He stuck his tongue out of his mouth while he concentrated on his target, then swung his arm behind him and over his head and cast the ball right into the bag.

  “Yes!” He cheered and jumped in the air.

  Billings smiled as he saw that big, proud grin appear on his colleague’s face. He was reminded of how handsome Clarkson was when he laughed. Clarkson always took great pleasure in the little things in life. He was straightforward and uncomplicated and easy to love. So different to Enoch.

  For a very brief moment, Billings contemplated what it would be like if it had been Clarkson he’d woken up next to in the mornings. But he quickly banished that notion from his mind. There was no point fantasising about something impossible.

  “’Ow ’bout that then, eh?” Clarkson said, returning to his seat. “Great bit of sportsmanship, that was. Are you impressed?”

  “Very,” Billings answered. He wiped the smile off his face and did his best to sound stoic.

  The office door swung open, and Jack stepped in, dragging a post bag across the floor.

  “Not another one!” Clarkson called.

  “Afraid so, Mr Clarkson.” The boy placed the bag with the others, then turned to face Billings. “There’s a lady at the reception asking for you.”

  Clarkson raised his eyebrows. “Well, well, well. You’re popular with the ladies all of a sudden, Billings.”

  “But this one ain’t half as pretty as the last one,” Jack added. “I’ve put her in interview room number three.”

  Billings frowned. “You’re getting too big for your boots, Jack. It’s not your business to put visitors in interview rooms.”

  “But she wanted privacy. On account of her baby.”

  “Her baby?”

  “She had to feed it.”

  “Tell her I’ll be down soon.”

  The woman turned her head as Billings walked into the interview room. She was sitting with her back against the door. She was dressed in black. A shawl covered her breast as she fed her baby.

  “Are you Detective Sergeant Billings?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “I know who killed Joseph Hirsch.” She pushed the baby’s face away from her breast and buttoned up her blouse.

  Billings looked her up and down. The woman was dressed in rags. Her baby’s face was dirty, and a crust of snot covered its nostrils. He sighed. Another impostor, he thought.

  He closed the door and walked towards the desk. “What is your name?” he asked, taking a sheet of paper from the desk drawer.

  “You gotta pay me the money first, before I say anything.”

  “That’s not the way it works. We must find the killer first. Then we’ll pay.”

  “My name is Ada.”

  Billings dipped his pen in the inkwell and wrote down the name. “Ada what?”

  The woman hesitated. “Just Ada.”

  “I must have your surname.”

  “I can’t give you my surname.”

  “Why not?”

  “You must pay me before I say anything else.”

  “I’ve already explained to you how it works.”

  “But h
ow do I know you’re really going to pay?”

  “We’re the police. I think you can trust us.”

  The woman scoffed at this.

  “What is your full name?” Billings dipped the pen in the inkwell.

  The woman paused before replying. “Hirsch,” she said. “My name is Ada Hirsch.”

  Billings raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m Judah Hirsch’s wife. I’m here on behalf of my husband. He wants to make a deal with you.”

  “Do you have any proof of this?”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Of your marriage. Do you have a marriage license?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Then how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “’Ere!” The woman slammed her hand on the desk. “You can tell by me finger that I’m married.”

  Billings looked at her hand. “There’s no wedding ring on your finger.”

  “I had to pawn the ring, but you can still see the indent on me finger. I have the pawn ticket at home. I can show you.”

  “The wedding ring doesn’t prove anything. Where did you get married?”

  “St John’s Chapel in Bethnal Green.”

  “When?”

  “Nine months ago.”

  “We can check the register of St John’s chapel. That would be proof enough. What is your maiden name?”

  “Mooney.”

  “Very well.” He wrote that down. “Where is your husband?”

  “He’s at home.”

  “Where is your home?”

  “Beth…” The woman stopped speaking and frowned. “Oh no.” She shook her head. “You can’t trick me that easily, Detective Sergeant. I want to know if you’re willing to make a deal before I say anything else.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “My husband will tell you who killed Joseph Hirsch. And he’ll tell you where to find his brothers. But he wants you to promise that he will be granted a pardon.”

  “A pardon for what?”

  “For what he will confess.”

  “So it was your husband who killed Joseph Hirsch?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Only the queen can grant a pardon, Mrs Hirsch.”

  “He also wants you to promise that he will not be sent back to France.”

  “That’s a matter for the politicians.”