A Bespoke Murder (21 page)

‘What are you going to do about this?’ demanded Stone.

‘As you can see, sir, we’ve assigned two uniformed policemen to stand guard here. That will continue around the clock.’

‘It’s too little, too late. We needed protection
beforehand
.’

‘We had no indication that the place was in danger.’

‘When the situation is highly volatile, as it is at present, then it’s always in danger. You should have foreseen that, Sergeant.’

‘We’re not fortune-tellers, Mr Stone,’ said Keedy, determined not to be browbeaten. ‘We can’t predict the future. The question you should be asking is not why this synagogue was attacked, but why none of the others in London was singled out.’

Stone blenched. ‘Is that true? Ours is the only one?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Keedy was not pleased to see him. He had simply come to take stock of the damage and to see if there were any clues that pointed to the culprits. Unhappily, there were none so far. A man walking his dog reported seeing a lorry driving away at high speed but it could not definitely be connected with the blaze. Detectives were still going from house to house in the vicinity in search of potential witnesses.

Stone clearly took an almost proprietorial interest in the synagogue and, judging by the way the two men talked together earlier, he seemed to be an intimate friend of Rabbi Hirsch. Since he could not avoid speaking to Stone, Keedy took advantage of the opportunity to question him.

‘I understand that you had more than a passing interest in your brother’s business affairs,’ he said. ‘Is that true, sir?’

Stone’s jaw tightened. ‘What if it is?’

‘You even had some say in who was employed there.’

‘Jacob always turned to me for advice.’

‘It was rather more than advice, Mr Stone. When I interviewed Howard Fine, he told me that you’d dismissed him in person.’

‘He should have gone much sooner,’ said Stone with disdain.

‘Why was that?’

‘He did not
belong
, Sergeant.’

‘Your brother apparently thought he did.’

‘He was the only one who did. Fine was a disruptive influence.’

‘In what way?’ asked Keedy, surprised. ‘He struck me as a rather harmless and inoffensive fellow.’

‘You didn’t have to work alongside him.’

‘Neither did you, sir.’

‘I picked up the vibrations from the other members of staff,’ said Stone, bristling. ‘Burridge loathed him and – though he was far too well bred to voice his concerns – so did Mr Cohen, the manager. Howard Fine was a mistake. That’s why I sent him on his way.’

‘Do you think that he could be vindictive?’

Stone glared. ‘His type often can be.’

‘What exactly do you mean by “his type”?’ asked Keedy.

‘I leave you to guess. But if you’re asking if he should be treated as a possible suspect, the answer is no. Howard Fine wouldn’t have the guts to seek revenge,’ said Stone, contemptuously. ‘As far as I was concerned, his departure was a case of good riddance to bad rubbish.’

‘Yet he was able to find employment almost immediately.’

‘Then he’s someone else’s problem now.’

Keedy was puzzled. When he’d spoken to Fine, there’d been no hint of vengefulness in the man. He’d accepted his dismissal and found more amenable work elsewhere. Evidently, there had been a deeper rift in the Jermyn Street shop than the tailor had indicated. What had actually happened during his time there, and why was Stone showing such animosity towards a man with whom he hardly ever came into contact? What had Howard Fine done to upset him?

Stone shifted the conversation to another former employee.

‘You’re going to ask me about Burridge next, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘I might as well tell you that I wasn’t sorry to see him go. That was no reflection on his work, mind you – it was exceptional. But his manner could be abrasive,’ said Stone. ‘He was respectful towards me and my brother, of course, but Mr Cohen had difficulties with him.’

‘Did he complain about them?’

‘No, Sergeant – David Cohen wouldn’t do that. He never told tales. He believed in settling differences by means of tact and diplomacy.’

‘According to the inspector,’ said Keedy, ‘Cyril Burridge was far from being either tactful or diplomatic. In fact, the wonder is that he lasted so long in your brother’s shop.’

‘He had his virtues,’ conceded Stone, ‘and he knew how to keep his head down whenever Jacob and I were about. When he was given his notice, however, he told me precisely what he thought of me and he didn’t mince his words.’ He smiled, darkly. ‘My back is broad,’ he boasted. ‘Insults like that just bounce off me.’

Keedy wanted to pursue the topic but the rabbi was beckoning Stone over to him. The sergeant managed to get in one more question.

‘How is your niece bearing up, sir?’

‘Not too well,’ admitted Stone. ‘Ruth is still reeling from what happened to her and to her father. She’s still very fearful.’

‘There’s no need to be,’ said Keedy. ‘Gatliffe would never dare to go anywhere near her and Cochran is safely locked up in prison. She has nothing to fear from either of them.’

When the telephone call came, Sir Edward Henry was as annoyed as he was disturbed. After ridding himself of some biting criticism, he left the room and headed down the corridor to Harvey Marmion’s office. He knocked on the door then let himself in. Seated behind his desk, Marmion looked up from the report he was studying. He could
see from the commissioner’s expression that something dramatic had occurred.

‘What’s the trouble, Sir Edward?’ he asked.

‘I’ve just had a phone call from the Home Office.’

‘And?’

‘The staff at Wandsworth can’t do their job properly.’

Marmion understood. ‘Oliver Cochran?’

‘Yes,’ said Sir Edward. ‘Somehow – God knows how – he’s managed to escape and is on the run.’

Major Raymond Marmion was such an irregular visitor to the house that Ellen always made a fuss of him when he did turn up. He had called in that afternoon to borrow his brother’s lawnmower and was immediately pressed to have tea, sandwiches and a slice of homemade chocolate cake. To someone who deliberately led a fairly spartan existence, it was a rare moment of indulgence for him.

‘Since I joined the Army,’ he said, relishing the cake, ‘I’ve had to
make
far more tea than I ever have chance to drink. I just get so much more pleasure out of satisfying the needs of others.’

‘You’re a saint, Ray.’

‘We don’t believe in canonisation.’

‘Well, you should do.’ Ellen cut herself a slice of cake. ‘I hear that Alice came to see you to discuss this mad idea she has of joining the Women’s Emergency Corps.’

He was more tolerant. ‘Is it such a mad idea, Ellen?’

‘We think so. Alice has a profession to follow.’

‘She feels that she wishes to help the war effort.’

‘Is that what you advised?’

‘Good Lord, no,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’d never try to tell Alice what to
do. I merely provided a pair of ears so that she could go through the pros and cons. She’s well aware of the disadvantages of the scheme, so it’s not an easy decision. It partly depends on this friend who teaches at the same school.’

‘Her name is Vera Dowling. She’s a rather timid creature.’

‘Miss Dowling is ready to follow Alice’s lead, it seems, but she’s getting impatient. Alice thinks that her friend may get fed up with waiting and will volunteer even if she has to do it on her own.’

Ellen did not like the sound of that. Vera Dowling was a young woman who needed someone else to tell her what to do. If she was suddenly deciding to take independent action, it would act as a spur to Alice and that was worrying. Ellen tried to explain why she and her husband opposed the notion. Raymond listened with his customary patience and attention, making sure that he didn’t take sides. It was important for his sister-in-law to air her grievances so he let her talk uninterrupted.

Barely a minute after Ellen had finally reached the end of her peroration, they heard the front door being opened. Alice had come home from school. At the sight of her uncle, she grinned broadly and rushed to embrace him. Then she looked at her mother and back again at Raymond.

‘Something’s been going on,’ she said, suspiciously. ‘I sense a conspiratorial air in this kitchen.’

Raymond held up both hands. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said. ‘I only came to borrow your father’s lawnmower.’

‘You’d better wear ear plugs when you use it, Uncle Ray. It makes the most terrible clanking noise.’

‘I can put up with that.’

Alice saw the cake. ‘I wouldn’t mind a slice of that, Mummy.’

‘I’ll make a fresh pot of tea,’ said Ellen.

‘Thank you. Then you can tell me what you were saying about me before I came in.’

‘You weren’t even mentioned, Alice.’

‘Then why is there such an atmosphere?’

Ellen clicked her tongue. ‘You’re imagining things.’

While her mother went to the sink to fill the kettle, Alice turned to her uncle. Honest by nature, her uncle would never dissemble. He anticipated her question and sought to divert it.

‘You
were
the subject of discussion, Alice,’ he told her, ‘when I had an unexpected visitor yesterday.’

‘Oh – who was that?’

‘Sergeant Joe Keedy.’

‘Why did he come to see you, Uncle Ray?’

‘He knows how long I’ve worked in the East End and how closely I’ve watched the activities of dissident elements in the area. We often have to pick up the pieces afterwards, you see. I was able to help him with a list of names.’

‘And you talked to him about me?’

‘Let’s say that your name came into the conversation.’

Alice was curious. ‘What did Joe have to say?’

‘It’s not what he had to say but the way that he said it.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You’ve made something of a conquest, Alice.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she said with a touch of sadness. ‘Joe is only interested in his girlfriend. She’s a nurse, apparently, and she’s gone to Flanders to work in a dressing station.’

‘I can only tell you what I heard,’ said Raymond.

‘And what was that?’ asked Ellen, lighting the gas.

‘I heard a man who is extremely fond of my lovely niece.’

Alice was pleased. ‘Did he say that in so many words?’

‘He didn’t need to,’ explained Raymond. ‘It was the way that Joe said your name. That’s what gave him away.’

It was encouraging news but Alice was not quite sure how to take it. While she was delighted to have made a good impression on Keedy, she was critical of him for taking an interest in her when his affections were already engaged elsewhere. Her own feelings about him had not changed – Alice still thought him a handsome, engaging and thoroughly mature man. That put him streets ahead of any of her other admirers. Yet he was unavailable. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Keedy was already spoken for and she had to respect that fact. When she came out of her reverie, she saw that her mother was offering her a slice of cake on a plate.

‘Oh,’ said Alice, taking it from her, ‘thank you, Mummy.’ She had a first bite of the cake before announcing her decision. ‘By the way, Vera and I have made up our minds at last.’

Ellen braced herself. ‘Have you?’

‘Yes – we’re going to join the WEC.’

As soon as Keedy entered Scotland Yard, he saw Marmion coming towards him with a sense of urgency. Instead of being able to report on his visit to the synagogue, the sergeant was turned round and bundled into a waiting car. Marmion settled in beside him and the vehicle set off.

‘Oliver Cochran has escaped,’ he said.

Keedy gaped. ‘How the hell did he do that?’

‘Let’s worry about that when we have him under lock and key. We have to catch him as soon as possible, Joe. If this gets into the press,
they’ll start asking about the offence with which he’s charged and Ruth Stein’s name may be leaked.’

‘We must stop that happening, Inspector. I’ve just spoken to her uncle. The girl is still struggling badly. The last thing she needs is to see her name all over the newspapers. What’s the situation?’

‘We’ve launched a manhunt. Cochran won’t get far.’

‘He’s young and strong. If he’s clever enough to escape from Wandsworth, he could be very difficult to find.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Marmion, confidently. ‘He realises that he can’t stay at liberty indefinitely. In my view, that isn’t why he broke out of prison. Cochran has only one purpose in mind.’

‘What’s that, Inspector?’

‘He wants to get his revenge on John Gatliffe.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

He sat on the riverbank with his rod beside him, unable to summon up the energy or the interest to do any fishing. At least he was alone and free from the sustained disgust of his parents. Gatliffe had no rest at home. His mother and father had been horrified to hear that he’d been charged by the police, even though he insisted that he did not molest Ruth Stein in any way. His father had wanted to disown him and throw him out of the house. Only the intercession of his mother stopped it happening but she punished him in another way. While her husband ranted and threatened, she subjected her son to silent hostility, treating him to long withering stares and refusing to do anything for him beyond making meals that he was forced to eat by himself. Staying at home brought him unrelenting pain and guilt. Gatliffe had therefore fled to the river. Even though it was a dull and chilly day, he was content. They could not hurt him there.

He’d been wrong. He could see that now. He should never have confessed to the crime. It had not only ruined his life but broken his closest friendship. He and Oliver Cochran had grown up together, making light of the deprivation they suffered in a poverty-stricken area and supporting each other to the hilt at all times. They were no strangers to petty theft but had always got away with it because they were such convincing liars. Their respective parents had no idea how often they had gone astray. Mr and Mrs Gatliffe thought that their son was a decent and law-abiding young man. The revelation that he had been involved in the rape of a girl in the West End had come as a thunderbolt.