by Clive Mullis
‘I can live with that, just general curiosity though. I like to know what I’m getting myself into.’
They finished up and Frankie tossed a few coins onto the table as they left. The initial rush of people had dwindled and now only a trickle were left on the streets, so it wasn’t hard work pushing their way through. Frankie, feeling lazy, wangled them a lift into the centre of town on the back of a cooper’s cart. Strangely, very few refused a request from Frankie when he was after a lift, maybe it had something to do with the way he stepped out in front of them and grabbed the bridle, and possibly with the way he continued holding on while the one way conversation continued, and it might be to do with the way he wouldn’t let go until the driver agreed to go to wherever Frankie wanted to go, in this case, close to the Assembly would do.
By the time they reached Hupplemere Mews, the light began to fade as dusk settled in. The marriage broker on the first floor nodded a greeting to Frankie as he closed up for the day and Frankie did wonder what damage he had done, as he seemed to be very pleased with himself. The general fee was ten per cent of all money that changed hands, so he supposed that there must be at least two families who’d lost a fair amount that day. He couldn’t figure out why some people had to resort to his services, but then he thought that perhaps, unless they bought a partner, no other bugger would have them.
Cornwallis dozed with his feet on the desk when they came through the door; he hadn’t even lit the lanterns so the place was in semi-darkness. Frankie banging the door startled him into wakefulness; shiny leather chair plus a smooth suit equalled a sliding investigator; Cornwallis’ arse hit the floor with a loud thump.
‘Sleeping on the job again, boss?’ cackled Frankie, as Cornwallis scrambled to his feet. ‘There’s us doing all the bloody work while you lord it up. Worked our fingers to the bone, we ‘ave, not to mention the wear and tear on our boot leather. Ain’t that right, Rose?’ Then he added in a softer voice to her. ‘I reckon that’s about a seven on your scale.’
Rose managed to stifle a laugh by biting down hard on her bottom lip.
‘What’s that you said?’ asked a flustered Cornwallis, regaining his seat. ‘I didn’t quite hear that.’
‘Not important, boss,’ replied Frankie, flicking a match and lighting the lantern on the desk. He pinched out the match and then turned around and saw the pictures lining the wall. ‘Jeez, they weren’t here earlier. Will you look at the size o’ them.’
Cornwallis only had eyes for Rose for a few seconds and smiled a greeting as his mind went through the arrangements he’d made for the evening. Restaurant booked? Check. Witty conversation rehearsed? Check. Drinks cupboard full? Check. Etchings to be seen? Check. Bed tidy and made? Check. Everything sorted, just need now to get Frankie out of the way. He dragged his mind and attention back to what Frankie had just said. ‘Aren’t they just. Never trust a feeler to do anything right. That Dewdrop only went to Mikel An’ Jello; MacGillicudy is going to have one hell of a shock when I give him the bill.’ He flicked his eyes back to Rose and smiled again. ‘I gather you’ve had an eventful day,’ and he waved the note they had left earlier. ‘You had better fill me in on all the details.’
‘We will. Nice cut you’ve had there by the way, is there a special reason?’
‘No, no. Just thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.’
‘Algie,’ piped up Frankie. ‘You’ve set him ferreting around, ain’t ya?’ Cornwallis nodded, agreeing that he had. ‘Algie,’ he explained, turning to Rose, ‘is one of our erstwhile employer’s informants. He runs a haircutting business and is privy to some really interesting information, viz a viz, who’s knobbing who, etc. He…’ and he flicked a thumb to Cornwallis, ‘…owns the place, so Algie hasn’t got an option really. He can be quite useful, or at least, up ‘til now he has.’
For the next hour or so, they exchanged information, with Frankie extolling Rose’s virtues and revelling in the way that she’d handled Sam Snodgrass. Rose underplayed her contribution to events, but even so, Cornwallis listened with undisguised admiration; Eddie had got it spot on, Rose knew how to handle herself. The manner of Freddie the Weasel’s demise indicated some kind of retribution; but they would have to find out whether he had overstepped the mark within his own patch or somewhere else, and for that, they would have to speak to Gerald. Gerald, the undisputed King of The Brews, the all-knowing, all-seeing, ruler of the slum, knew everything that happened within his domain. Perhaps it was just as well that they had to go and see him, because should Rose stay an investigator, she might have to go into the Brews on her own one day, and she would need to be safe. Cornwallis wrote everything down in his little notebook, and as he revealed his day’s activities, he noted them down as well. A lot of the information needed to be sifted, of course, then they had to find a way to link it all together, and there were gaps, but gaps were there to be filled. All in all, a pretty interesting first day of an investigation, he decided.
Cornwallis presented Rose with her brand new investigators licence while Frankie applauded; she picked it up and smiled as she read the words. It was official now, and he had put it in an official looking wallet too. She practised flicking it open a few times before slipping it into her pocket, still smiling.
‘Well, that’s that, then,’ said Frankie, as he got up and rummaged in the sack of clues they had brought back. ‘We had better make sure we’re right and Freddie did kill the cleaner.’ He pulled out a boot and went to check it against the painting. Rose and Cornwallis joined him as he laid the painting on the floor. ‘Cherubs? I don’t remember any cherubs being there.’
‘I believe Mr An’ Jello is rather fond of them,’ answered Cornwallis with a frown. ‘It’s what you call his trademark.’
‘They’re very sweet though,’ observed Rose, ‘and cute. Look, it’s even got a little bow.’
Frankie grunted and then lined up the boot against the canvas. All three knelt, with Cornwallis and Frankie either side of Rose. They were looking keenly with their heads all close together and their arses high in the air to see if the boot-print in the painting matched the boot-print in their hand, it did, even down to the little notches in the heel.
‘Well, he may be expensive, but you have to admit, he’s a bloody good artist. He hasn’t missed a thing,’ observed Cornwallis, laying the boot over the picture one last time. ‘Exact size as well.’
The door flew open and in strode Cornwallis senior. He stopped short and stared at the three arses raised into the air. ‘Well, well, what have we here? If I was in the Assembly, I’d say you three were after promotion.’
Three heads turned as one.
‘Oh, I say, Jocelyn. You never described the beauty of your new assistant.’ The earl’s face lit up in sheer unadulterated pleasure. ‘I do apologise my dear, just my little joke. Mind, if they let women into the house, just let me say that you would go a long long way.’
Rose had the decency to blush a little which shocked Cornwallis as he thought her impervious to embarrassment.
‘Get up my girl and let an old man dream again. God’s you are something special, are you not.’ He had a definite glint in his eye as he took hold of Rose’s hand as she climbed to her feet. He kissed it tenderly and then laid his other hand on top. ‘I’m Jocelyn’s father, and I take it you are the delightful Rose.’
‘I am.’ She left her hand in his and smiled shyly. ‘Pleased to meet you, er, sir.’
‘Sir? My gods, girl, don’t be so formal, call me Jocelyn please, everybody does.’
‘No they don’t,’ echoed Cornwallis and Frankie together.
The earl grinned. ‘All right, they don’t. But Rose can. You don’t, Frankie, because you are a peasant, a pleasant peasant granted, but you wouldn’t be happy being anything else.’
‘I could think of a few things to call you, if you want,’ said Frankie, climbing to his feet.
‘Surely you wouldn’t in the presence of a beautiful lady?’ He cast his gaze on Rose again. �
�When he really wants to wind me up he calls me dad, seeing that his mother used to work for me.’
Rose giggled.
Cornwallis’ jaw had dropped. Where did this Rose come from? Up until now, she had looked people right in the eye and told them their fortune straight. This one acted like a demure little schoolgirl doing her best to please the master. What did his father have that he didn’t? She was like putty in his hands, and he had only just walked through the door. Frankie mumbled something which sounded to Cornwallis very much like “Noughts”.
‘Isn’t mother expecting you home tonight?’ asked Cornwallis in desperation.
‘Oh, no, no, no. She’s at one of her committee meetings again. No, I’m at a loose end right now, just popped over to tell you about that little thing we discussed earlier.’ He released Rose’s hand reluctantly and led his son over to the corner to speak to him quietly.
Cornwallis turned and saw that something amused Frankie, he whispered something into Rose’s ear and got rewarded with a kick to the shin; he then just burst out laughing. Must be a private joke between the two of them, he thought jealously.
The earl bent close to Cornwallis’ ear. ‘Radstock is worried,’ he said seriously. ‘He wouldn’t open up at first, but I squeezed him a little, and then he wouldn’t stop. He prevented the police from investigating because he thought that they would have pressure put on them to come up with an easy answer. You, however, would be a totally different proposition.’
Cornwallis concentrated fully on his father. ‘Go on.’
‘Apparently, someone put the wrong figures over to Roland Goup, so someone else decided to get them back. I should think it all went horribly wrong.’
‘Surely Radstock knows who’s involved?’
‘If he does, he’s certainly not saying. I had to put an awful lot of pressure on him to get what I did.’
Cornwallis mentally filed away the information for future perusal. ‘Anything else?’
‘Only the normal sort of thing; a member is getting a few others to invest heavily in his company, not unusual, but some are placing their life savings with him. I suppose after the bank’s problems they are going to try and make their money elsewhere.’
‘It had better be a good company, then. Who is it?’
‘Kinterbsbury, Pelegrew Kintersbury. He asked me, but I declined the option. The vote went through by the way; the Assembly will be lending the bank the money it needs.’
‘That’s not surprising. Anyway, we know who killed the cleaner, a petty thief from the Brews. But when Frankie and Rose caught up with him, someone had got to him first. They found him dead.’ Cornwallis then told him the grizzly details.
‘Oh that’s nasty,’ exclaimed the earl, and then looked over to Rose. ‘The poor girl, her first day, too.’ The earl thought for a moment. ‘You know, I think you had better be careful with this one.’
‘I think you might be right. We have clothing from Cavel Row, which equals money, and we have a silk handkerchief with the initial K, which equals more money. Money seems to be dripping off this one.’
Just then, MacGillicudy came in; he took one look at the Earl of Bantwich and raised an eyebrow. ‘Milord,’ he greeted, doffing a pretend cap. ‘Am I intruding at all?’
‘Not at all, Sergeant, I was just about to leave.’
‘Me too,’ said Frankie. ‘My mum’ll be mad at me, as it is, and I ‘ave to squeeze Sadie in somewhere.’
MacGillicudy sniffed his armpits. ‘I had a wash this morning as well.’
‘Don’t take it personally, Sergeant,’ laughed the earl. ‘Now, I should think you want to speak to my son, so I will leave you be; but as I’m a little hungry now,’ he turned his head to look at Rose. ‘I would be delighted if this young lady can come and keep me company, there’s a cosy little restaurant just around the corner.’
‘I would be honoured,’ replied Rose, stepping over and wrapping her arm around his. ‘Do you know, I have never been taken out to dinner before, none of my old boyfriends were ever interested in eating, and since I’ve been here, nobody has asked.’
‘Never been taken out to dinner before? My Gods, what is the world coming to. Well, let me be the first and we’ll make it a night to remember.’
Cornwallis stood speechless, his mouth opened and closed, but he just couldn’t get the words out. To make matters worse, Rose waved, and then blew him a kiss, as she marched out with his father, all his plans — ruined.
‘What’s the matter with you then, Jack?’ asked MacGillicudy, handing over Freddie’s trousers before sitting himself down. ‘You look like the world’s just dropped out of your arse.’
Cornwallis shot him a look. ‘It has, Jethro.’ He grimaced and then sighed. ‘Upstaged by my father. Oh well, it could have been worse. I had planned on taking Rose out to dinner but I didn’t get around to asking, then along comes my father, and… well, she’s off and I’m stuck here with you.’
MacGillicudy chuckled. ‘And I expect you were after afters?’
‘Hoping, Jethro, just hoping. Dinner, a stroll, then… you know.’
‘Nightcap?’
Cornwallis shrugged his shoulders. ‘In my dreams. Ah well, every cloud and all that.’ He dug deep but found a smile from somewhere. ‘Look around you, Jethro, what do you see?’
MacGillicudy did and gave a low whistle. ‘Looks expensive to me.’ The penny, as it were, dropped. ‘Oh, no. That’s not Dewdrop’s work, is it? Tell me it’s not. Please, tell me it’s not.’
‘Mikel An’ Jello, police artist extraordinaire.’ Cornwallis sat down and pushed the bill across with his forefinger. ‘There you go; all yours. I think Bough will go apoplectic when he sees all them; what do you think?’
MacGillicudy went pale.
‘What’s wrong, Jethro? You look as if the world’s just dropped out of your arse.’
‘I’m going to strangle the little runt.’
Cornwallis suddenly felt a lot better about Rose now; there’s nothing like spreading a little joy around to give you a nice warm feeling inside, and if MacGillicudy would only stop crying, it would make it a whole lot warmer — and drier.
When the sergeant eventually managed to control himself, which took some time as he kept pulling the bill out and looking to see if the decimal point had magically moved about three places to the left, he managed to get to the reason why he had come to see Cornwallis in the first place. Snodgrass decided to be highly co-operative, and doing everything in his power to avoid the rope necklace that was destined to be his future. It would seem that all the money he’d made from the drug deals since moving to Greenwalsh Avenue went through the offices of Mssrs Critchloe, Flanders, and Goup. Snodgrass would give weekly deposits to the accountant as per his instructions, and the day after he would go to a warehouse on the docks to pick up his supply for the next week, together with his earnings. It had all been going on for some time now and was a pretty lucrative little enterprise. He never saw who controlled him, as all meetings were held in the disused warehouse, and the man involved always managed to hide himself in the shadows to avoid revealing his identity. The same unknown man who had arranged for him to take on the coffee shop in the first place.
‘You been to this warehouse, Jethro?’ asked Cornwallis.
MacGillicudy nodded. ‘Been derelict for the last five years; used to belong to the Great East Company until they went bust: nothing there now apart from a few dusty old bags of tea.’
This is all getting very murky, thought Cornwallis, rubbing his face with his hands. What else was going to come to light? Highly placed members of the Assembly screwing money out of the system, a murder, no, make that two murders, and now drugs and money laundering. It would seem a lot of fingers were stuck in a lot of pies. He would have to think about all this. Goup appeared to be central to the whole thing; maybe he should put all his efforts into finding out where he went.
‘Come on, Jethro, I can’t think straight at the moment, a couple of pints might help.’<
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They decided to drown their sorrows at the Policeman’s Truncheon, the favourite haunt of the off duty police officer, just around the corner from Scooters Yard. The sign, above the tavern, the subject of adulteration over the years, turning the truncheon into one massive phallus held up by a smiling policeman. For some reason, the feelers took a great deal of pride in the place.
The snug was quite full, but they found a table right at the back which offered a degree of privacy, which MacGillicudy indicated might be required if they intended to chew the cud. A noisy boisterous place sometimes made for better thinking anyway. They ordered two pints from a pretty young serving girl, who risked her life, and her wobbly bits, every time she moved amongst fifty or sixty randy young feelers, and settled down.
‘Freddie was a mess,’ began MacGillicudy, squirming to get comfortable. ‘I went up there with a few lads once the news had filtered down. Took a proper artist with me too; you should have the pictures soon. There are some evil bastards around.’
‘So Frankie and Rose said,’ answered Cornwallis. ‘What did you make of it?’
‘Execution, definitely. Reckon they stopped him talking before he said something he shouldn’t, didn’t trust him, see, hence the nail in the mouth. Looked like ships nails to me, and they were a rare old bugger to get out, I can tell you. Pliers and a claw hammer didn’t cut the mustard, ended up smashing the wall down with a sledgehammer. When we finally got him free, the bastard was stiff as a board. Have you ever tried getting a star shaped corpse out of a tenement?’
Cornwallis pictured the scene in his mind then grinned. ‘No, can’t say I have.’
