Kith and Kin

by Jane A. Adams

  Malina’s jaw dropped and she stepped away.

  ‘Please don’t make a fuss or be silly about this,’ Cynthia told her. ‘Just get in the car and you can argue with me on the way home.’

  Malina hesitated a moment longer and then followed Cynthia into the Bentley.

  Cynthia drew a quick, apprehensive breath. ‘Look over there,’ she said. ‘I’m guessing he – or someone very like him – is the person Henry is protecting you from.’

  Malina looked. ‘I thought he was inside,’ she whispered. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’

  ‘I don’t know who he is,’ Cynthia said, ‘but I can recognize a shark when I see one.’ The car moved off, leaving Clough behind. Malina covered her mouth with her hand, a sob rising in her throat.

  ‘That bad, is he?’ Cynthia asked. ‘I believe he must be beyond a shark if someone like you is scared of him.’ She reached over and took Malina’s hand.

  Tommy Boswell was in the exercise yard. Eyes straight ahead, walking in circles, hands thrust deep into pockets to keep them warm. He was too cold to think, too deep in despair really to think about what the future might bring. But for Tommy Boswell the future was going to be very short indeed.

  He felt what he first thought was another inmate stumbling into him and then a sudden pain in his side. The other inmates kept on moving. Heads down, walking in a circle, moving on and moving past, and Tommy couldn’t quite get his legs to work. He pitched forward into the mud, sprawling on to cold, cold ground, and they moved on and over him, walking in circles, eyes ahead. By the time the shout went up for them to stop, by the time the guards ran over and turned him back to face the sky, Tommy Boswell was gone.

  TWENTY-NINE

  It had taken Eddy a while to get back to the Pritchards’. Scared and wary, he had kept to the shadows until he was well clear of the boats, and hidden if anyone approached. He then had to orientate himself, figure out how they had got to the boat from the place where Clough had been before, and finally how to get back to the street where Sergeant Hitchens lived.

  He made it back by early morning, watched Mr Pritchard open up the shop and then stood on the corner, hesitating, unsure of his welcome now he was here.

  It was Frankie, one of the Pritchard boys, out on early deliveries, who spotted him, coming up behind and taking Eddy by surprise with his greeting of, ‘Morning, young ’un. You’ve come back, then?’

  Eddy turned and danced on the spot, unsure whether to respond or run. Frankie grinned at him. ‘So, you hungry or what?’

  ‘Hungry, yes. But I need to talk to the policeman. I need to talk to him now.’

  ‘He’s already gone out for the day. Shoved off early, so something must be going on. Come on, let’s get you fed and we’ll see if Dad can get a message to him.’

  Frankie crossed the road to the shop and Eddy trailed after, still anxious and cold, but at least the reception had not been hostile so far. Pritchard senior didn’t seem surprised to see him either. He sat Eddy down at the kitchen table and fed him bread and jam. Eddy told him that he needed to talk to the policeman. That it was important.

  ‘And are you going to be running off again after?’ Pritchard asked him. ‘Report back to whoever your master is again?’

  Eddy stopped chewing and it dawned on him for the first time that maybe he’d not been so clever in getting away from them. That they might have been told to let him go.

  ‘You follow me?’ he asked, his tone fearful.

  ‘As far as Camperdown Street, then you shook Jack off.’

  Jack was the eldest of the siblings. ‘That far?’ Eddy’s eyes were wide, terrified. ‘He’ll kill me.’

  ‘Not if you stop here. You planning on running off again?’

  ‘No.’ Eddy made up his mind. ‘Can I stop with you? I can work.’

  ‘You eat your bread and drink your tea and we’ll talk about it later. Your own people might want to claim you. Your mum and dad.’

  ‘Doubt it. Me dad handed me over, told me I was ’pprenticed and had to do what he said.’

  ‘How long ago was that? And what about your mum?’

  ‘Gone off, didn’t she? Left.’

  Pritchard considered. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘we’ll see what can be done, but meantime I’ll try and get a message to our Sergeant Hitchens for you. Now, we’d better be formal and write it down.’

  He fetched his notepad and pencil from the shop and licked the tip. ‘Makes it blacker,’ he said when he saw Eddy looking. ‘You tell me what you want Sergeant Hitchens to know and I’ll get it sent to him.’

  ‘Can’t you telephone?’

  ‘He might not be there. And it’s not easy to get put through to where he works. He’s a murder detective, you see, not just your ordinary sergeant.’

  ‘Can I have more bread?’

  ‘Can you cut it yourself? Good lad. You eat and I’ll note it down and we’ll send Jack to deliver it. Is that a good idea?’

  It would do, Eddy reckoned. Clough would know by now that he had gone but he didn’t think Clough would ever imagine he would come back here.

  ‘You live here?’ Malina was wide-eyed.

  ‘I do, but don’t get carried away. I married money, and fortunately I married a good man. I think of all this as borrowed rather than really mine.’ Cynthia laughed at Malina’s look of disbelief. It was largely true, Cynthia thought, though she trusted her borrowed life more as time went on and no one called upon her to repay the loan.

  Albert valued her and in that she counted herself most fortunate.

  Cynthia had let it be known that Miss Cooper would be staying for a while and would be acting as a temporary secretary. She would be taking her meals with Nanny and Doris, Cynthia’s personal maid. ‘There’s a room ready for you on the nursery floor,’ Cynthia said. ‘I hope it’s all right. As far as I’m concerned you’re my house guest, but that would get people talking and we want to avoid gossip if we can. Let’s keep your presence here as secret as possible.’

  ‘Stable door, horse, bolted,’ Malina said bluntly. ‘I think you blew your cover when you turned up in that car.’

  ‘Probably.’ Cynthia laughed. ‘I’m relying on my brother to get us out of this.’

  ‘Won’t your husband be mad?’

  ‘Albert will be amused, I think. He’s due back tonight so we can explain then. And,’ she added contentedly, ‘my eldest boy will be coming home from school tomorrow. I’ll have all three of them here for Christmas.’

  She looked so genuinely pleased that Malina warmed to her.

  Malina settled in the room she had been allocated. Big brass bed, soft green eiderdown. A wardrobe for clothes she didn’t have and a chest of drawers – likewise.

  A maid had brought tea and set it there and Malina had been at a loss as to what to say to her. She sat down with her tea (fancy cups her mother would have loved, painted with birds and flowers) in the nursing chair beside a sweet little pokerwork table and wondered what on earth she was supposed to do in a place like this.

  A soft knock on the door. A child with soft copper hair and solemn eyes and an older woman came in.

  ‘I’m Melissa,’ the little girl told her, ‘and this is Nanny. Mummy said she didn’t give you any time to pack so she’s sent you some things, just to tide you over. Do you like to read, Miss Cooper? If you do, you are welcome to share my books.’

  She looked so eager that it made Malina smile. ‘I love to read,’ she said. ‘What kind of books do you have?’

  Melissa’s grin was, she thought, rather wonderful. It lit her eyes and made her look so much like a younger version of her mother.

  ‘Oh good. Come and see.’

  Nanny intervened. ‘Now, Melissa dear, you let this young lady settle in and put things away. Are you warm enough, my dear? Is there anything you need? Well, when you’re ready, you’ll find us just across the hall.’

  Henry, distressed and guilty, looked down at the body of Tommy Boswell.

  ‘He was sup
posed to be in protective custody,’ he said angrily.

  ‘He was in a single cell, let out for exercise. We couldn’t have known …’ The prison officer fell silent under Henry’s glare.

  ‘He was here in case he did a runner,’ Henry said. ‘He was a witness we needed. And he knew and we knew that he was only going to run because he was afraid.’

  Mickey faced the man who had killed Tommy Boswell across the length of a wooden table. He was shackled and a guard stood on either side, hands on his shoulders.

  ‘So,’ the man said. ‘What you goin’ to do? Hang me twice?’

  ‘Who wanted him dead? Who told you to kill him?’

  The convict shrugged. ‘Why should I care? Someone wished him dead. Now he’s dead.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Mickey said as they left the prison. ‘John Chambers, due to hang next week for killing his wife and mother-in-law. Like he said, we can’t hang him twice. But what I want to know is how the message got to him to kill Boswell. He’d be in the condemned cell apart from the exercise hour.’

  ‘And Tommy Boswell was in solitary confinement. The exercise yard is the only place this could have happened and a prison warder the only person who could have taken the message, organized the killing. Two dead, Mickey, and one who might also be if he hadn’t been more insane and more vicious than his attacker.’

  ‘At least the girl is safe,’ Mickey said.

  ‘No thanks to anything we have done.’

  Back in central office a message was waiting. Pritchard didn’t have a good hand and so he had written his report in careful capitals and had spelt Clough as ‘CLUFF’, but the message was clear.

  ‘Go back and speak to the boy,’ Henry said. ‘We will reconvene tomorrow, brief our colleagues and carry out our own post-mortem of events. See what our next move should be. I will go to Cynthia’s and speak with Miss Cooper. This has not been a good day, Mickey. We can only hope it will end better than it began.’

  ‘The boy had gone when I returned,’ Clough said. He sounded irritable, though Clem had never known him not to sound at least irritable. The two young men who had left with Clem, on the night of the attempted raid on the gypsy camp, stood beside the dirty windows of the dusty room. This old public house, once the Bell and now unnamed, had not been in use for at least a decade but Clem had always fancied himself as a landlord. Best of all, it overlooked the corner of Camperdown Street and it was surprising who could be seen at the crossroads.

  ‘Why should I care about your boy? My concern is that you failed.’

  Clough shrugged. ‘Boswell’s dead, so is Timmins. Nothing they can tell now. Alf Peterson’s a mad bugger and no one’s going to ask him nothing now. Not now he’s proved how mad he is. I can get someone to give him another go.’

  ‘And you messed up with the girl.’

  ‘I’ll sort it. She don’t know anything anyway.’

  ‘Then what’s to deal with? What’s your grudge against her?’

  ‘No grudge, I just want her seen to.’

  Clem considered this. ‘And what if I tell you to leave her alone? Your obsession with his family, it’s just going to bring unnecessary trouble down on us. Leave it be. Manfrid’s gone. You of all people know that.’

  ‘And who decided you was boss?’

  Clem shifted his weight. He was perched on a high stool, leaning back against the bar – or what would be the bar again, once he got the place cleaned up.

  ‘I did,’ he said. ‘When I brought you back to put the wind up Bailey.’

  Clough laughed at him. ‘Bailey was never boss of me. You reckon you can do what he couldn’t, fuck me, you’re more stupid than I reckoned.’

  ‘Really,’ Clem said softly. ‘You really think that, do you?’

  He gave no warning of what he was about to do. Clem reached into his pocket, took out his gun and shot Clough dead.

  THIRTY

  Henry arrived at his sister’s house just after five and was permitted to interrupt their evening schedule long enough to hug Melissa and Georgie, admire their latest artwork and finalize a date for Christmas shopping with his niece.

  ‘The lady mummy brought to stay is very nice,’ Melissa told him. ‘Will she be staying for Christmas?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, sweetheart. But if you’d make her feel safe and welcome while she’s here, I’d be very grateful.’

  ‘I will,’ Melissa promised. She considered for a moment and then said, ‘She’s frightened, isn’t she, and trying very hard not to show it?’

  ‘Yes, I believe she is.’

  ‘Now, now, Melissa, we musn’t keep your uncle. He’s here on official business, you know,’ Nanny told her.

  Melissa laughed at that and gave Henry one last hug. Nanny patted his arm. ‘Your young lady will be quite safe and comfortable here. Don’t you worry.’

  My young lady, Henry thought as he went back downstairs. It had an oddly appealing ring to it. He reminded himself that Malina was barely more than a child and put it from his mind.

  Cynthia and Malina were waiting for him in Cynthia’s little sitting room. It was her own private space, small and bright, with yellow curtains at the windows and bright cushions on the chairs.

  ‘I know it’s not yet six,’ Cynthia told him, ‘but I’m breaking my own rules and having gin and it. You want one?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘It would send me to sleep,’ he said.

  Malina sat with a drink in her hand but she didn’t really seem to want it. ‘What’s happening?’ she said. ‘Your sister said Tommy Boswell was dead.’

  ‘Tommy ran; we brought him back. I had him put into what I believed was a safe place. It turned out I was wrong. Did you know Nat Timmins? Alf Peterson?’

  ‘No. Timmins by name, though. Grigor talked about him. I think he kind of admired him. He was like Grigor thought he ought to be but knew he never could be, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Maybe that’s as well,’ Henry said.

  ‘Or maybe if he’d been more like Timmins he wouldn’t be dead.’

  ‘If we follow the analogy, he’d just be dead in another way,’ Henry reminded her. ‘Miss Cooper, what do you know about a man called Ricky Clough? Kem told me a bit about him, after you left on Sunday, and I’ve spoken to your Aunt Sarah.’

  ‘Did he now?’

  ‘He didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Inspector Johnstone, I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?’

  ‘Probably,’ Henry conceded. ‘Cyn, I will have that drink, please.’ He flopped down into one of Cynthia’s comfortable armchairs with a deep sigh. Cynthia placed a glass in his hand.

  ‘I didn’t really know Rico Clough,’ Malina said.

  She looked bone weary, Henry thought. Pale and tired and utterly lost, as though the fight had gone out of her.

  ‘He and my father were tight friends. My mother hated him, probably even more than she hated our dad. I know he was violent and I know I was scared of him. It wasn’t anything he ever did to me, it was … the way he watched, like he could see right inside your head. The way you knew that he was dangerous. Like your sister said earlier, worse than a shark.’

  ‘Earlier?’

  ‘We’ve not had a chance to tell you yet,’ Cynthia said. ‘He was waiting. We saw him on the street when we were getting into the car.’

  ‘Cynthia saw him first,’ Malina said.

  ‘How did you recognize him?’

  ‘My dear. He had the same look about him that our father had. We both know the type.’

  Henry nodded.

  Malina looked from one to the other, wondering what they meant.

  ‘Your Aunt Sarah thinks that your mother helped Clough’s wife leave him. Did you know about that?’

  ‘No, I knew nothing. Really?’

  ‘And that she wasn’t the only woman Dalla helped. It’s also possible … probable that your father and Clough were involved in bringing women into the country. It’s likely to have started before the end of the war, wh
en Clough was wounded and repatriated. It almost certainly continued after the armistice.’

  He could almost see the cogs falling into place. ‘They said he lied. What did he lie about?’

  ‘Perhaps he got greedy, wanted a bigger cut. Lied about the women and diverted some on his own account. They would have been nothing but merchandise to him, I think.’

  That hurt, Malina thought, but he was probably correct. ‘But what has that to do with now?’

  Henry sipped his drink. That was the question, wasn’t it? ‘Clough,’ he said. ‘The fact that he was broken out of gaol and brought back here – that has to be significant.’

  ‘So, he’s come back and he’s killing people that crossed him back then? Maybe those who killed my father? He and Clough were friends, after all.’

  ‘A vendetta. It’s possible. If he believed that Billy Crane and Thomas Boswell were responsible for Manfrid’s demise … presumably he was aware that they came to the cottage to get you that night. Would he have that kind of loyalty, do you think?’

  She shrugged. ‘Mostly I just kept out of his way.’ Then she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t see it and besides, this Max Peterson, what did he do? And it can’t be Rico Clough who killed Tommy and Timmins in gaol.’

  ‘He could have arranged it,’ Cynthia suggested.

  ‘If he’s got that kind of influence, he could have arranged it much earlier,’ Henry argued. ‘No, something else is in play here. Clough was brought here for a purpose. Miss Cooper, how did he get along with Bailey? Do you know that?’

  Malina closed her eyes, trying to remember. She’d been young when their mother took them to live near Upchurch and they’d returned to London only intermittently after that. ‘I liked the old man,’ she said. ‘I know what kind of man he really was, but he’d put up this front, this act, like he was everybody’s grandfather and you didn’t want to upset him. Not that he couldn’t be vicious, but he didn’t see the need to show that all the time.’