A Bespoke Murder (11 page)

‘How old is she?’

‘I daren’t ask and she wouldn’t, in any case, tell me. She gave up having birthdays many years ago.’

‘I admire her independence.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing compared to yours, Irene.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Irene, surprised by the envy in her sister’s voice. ‘I’ve never been really independent.’

‘Yes, you have,’ countered Dorothy. ‘When most women lose a husband so young, as you did, they’re likely to shrink back into their shell. You came out of yours. I couldn’t believe it when you told me that you were going to sail thousands of miles a year across the ocean on a Cunard liner. If that’s not independence – what is?’

‘It’s not as wonderful as it sounds,’ warned Irene. ‘I was a member of the crew and I had no independence at all on board. If I’d been a passenger, of course, it would have been a different matter.’

‘Weren’t you afraid when you sailed from New York this time?’

‘No, Dot, I wasn’t.’

‘But there were threats to all shipping from the Germans.’

‘I ignored them and got on with my job.’

‘What would you do if the same situation arose again?’

Irene was brisk. ‘It won’t arise,’ she said. ‘I never wish to go to sea again. My home is here now. All I need to do is to find a new job.’

‘There’s no hurry – you’ve earned a rest.’

‘I’m not the restful type.’

Dorothy laughed. ‘I discovered that years ago,’ she said. ‘You’re always on the go. I could never keep up with you.’

It was late evening and the two of them were sitting in the living
room with a glass of cheap sherry apiece. As she looked around, Irene saw that the wallpaper was fading and that the paintings chosen by their parents were still on the wall. Time had stood still in the house. It was at once comforting and saddening. If she was to live there on a permanent basis, Irene thought, she would insist on redecoration. But that could wait. All she wished to do now was to ease back into an old existence.

Dorothy glanced at the evening paper on the arm of the sofa.

‘Did you find anything that tempted you?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Irene. ‘There are plenty of jobs advertised but I’d like to know a bit more about them before I commit myself.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I wanted something that gets me out and about. I’d like a job that helps me to meet new people all the time.’

‘Then you should work in our shop,’ said Dorothy, chuckling. ‘We have all sorts coming through the door.’

‘I’m not sure it would suit me, Dot.’

‘Then what would?’

‘Well,’ said Irene, reaching for the newspaper, ‘one of the adverts that caught my eye was to do with trams.’

‘You mean, working as a conductress?’

‘I might start as that but I’d really want to be a driver. Apart from anything else, they earn more money. The tram that brought me here had a woman driver.’ Having opened the paper to the correct page, she passed it to her sister. ‘There you are – down at the bottom. I put a circle round it.’

‘There are four or five circles.’

‘Those are other jobs I might go after.’

‘Here we are,’ said Dorothy, finding the advertisement and reading
the details. ‘Well, why not? A job on the trams would give you continuity.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s another form of transport. You start off on ships then you move on to trams. You’d certainly meet lots of people that way.’ There was a twinkle in Dorothy’s eye. ‘You might even get a proposal of marriage out of one of them.’

Irene smiled wanly. ‘No, thank you. That’s all behind me.’

‘You never know.’

‘Oh yes I do. My future is here with you and Miss James.’

‘She was thrilled when I told her you were back.’

‘Good – it feels so
right
, Dot.’

‘Let’s celebrate with another glass, shall we?’

Putting the newspaper aside, Dorothy topped up their glasses from the sherry bottle. It was such a long time since she’d been able to share a companionable drink with anyone. Indeed, very few people were even invited into the house. Such as it was, Dorothy’s social life took place elsewhere. She regarded her sister through narrowed lids.

‘What was he like, Irene?’

‘Who?’

‘I’m talking about the chap who fell madly in love with you.’

Irene gave a half-laugh. ‘I don’t know about falling in love,’ she said. ‘Ernie wasn’t romantic in that way. He just wanted a woman and I happened to be the one on hand.’

‘There must have been more to it than that.’

After thinking it over, Irene gave an affirmative nod.

‘There was, Dot.’

‘Well?’

‘It no longer seems to matter. Ernie Gill belongs to a past life before
the ship went down. Everything is different now. I’ve no regrets about what I did. I just don’t want to dwell on it.’

‘In other words, I’m to mind my own business.’

‘I’d just like you to give me more time to … settle down.’

‘I understand,’ said Dorothy, sweetly. ‘You want to forget.’

‘This sherry will help me to do that.’

They clinked their glasses then sipped their drinks. After they chatted for another hour, Dorothy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw how late it was.

‘I have to leave early in the morning,’ she said, ‘but you deserve a long lie-in. You can spend the whole day in bed, if you like.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Irene. ‘I’ll be up at the crack of dawn. When you go off, I’ll probably come with you. I may have a lot of doors to knock on tomorrow.’

It took two days to gather all the documentation together. Before they departed, Sir Edward Henry insisted on speaking to Marmion and Keedy in his office. He handed over passports, warrants and a letter from the War Office.

‘I can’t tell you what a struggle I had to get authorisation,’ he said, clenching his teeth. ‘I had to contend with some blunt speaking at the War Office. One man went so far as to claim that any young unattended woman out at night is more or less asking to be molested and that Miss Stein had effectively provoked the rape.’

‘That’s a revolting suggestion,’ said Marmion, angrily.

‘There was worse to come, Inspector. The same fellow had the gall to ask me which was the more important – a deflowered Jewish virgin of no consequence or a pair of gallant soldiers ready to lay down their lives for their country? I gave him a flea in his ear.’

‘That was very restrained of you, Sir Edward.’

The commissioner nodded. ‘In retrospect, I think it was,’ he agreed, ‘but I got my way in the end. However, let’s put that aside, shall we? We must consider practicalities. What will happen while you’re away?’

‘The investigation will continue along the lines we’ve set down,’ said Marmion. ‘I’ve briefed my team. They’ll search for other people involved in the incident but the main focus will be on identifying the killer.’

‘Mr Stone keeps ringing me to ask about progress.’

‘What do you say?’

‘I’m suitably vague but mildly encouraging.’

‘Have you told him about our trip to France?’

‘Yes, Inspector – it’s the one thing of which he approved. He voiced his disapproval of just about everything else.’

‘I’m surprised that he has time to hound you, Sir Edward,’ said Keedy. ‘His brother’s body has been released to the family. I would have thought he’d be preoccupied with the funeral arrangements.’

‘Mr Stone seems to think that he has to bark at our heels to get any results.’ The commissioner gave a forbearing smile. ‘Given what happened to his brother and to his niece, the fellow is under intense pressure. We must make allowances for that.’

He looked down at the report in front of him and flicked through the pages. It had been prepared by Marmion and gave details of all arrests, interviews and names relevant to the investigation. Marmion and Keedy had spoken to everyone who worked for Jacob Stein, as well as to some of his rival tailors. They’d built up a much fuller picture of the deceased. What they had not so far been able to do was to track down the man who had been dismissed and the one who left Stein’s employ of his own accord. Nor had they managed to identify and arrest
the arsonist with the can of petrol. Newspapers had carried a detailed description of the individual and a number of names were put forward by members of the public. Though they were all checked, none of them belonged to the man in question and so he remained at large.

‘Who was the ringleader?’ said Sir Edward. ‘That’s what I really want to know. Was he also the killer?’

‘That’s possible,’ said Marmion, ‘but none of the witnesses picked out one particular person. All they remembered seeing was a chanting mob coming along the street.’

‘One of whom had a petrol can,’ added Keedy.

The commissioner pursed his lips and shook his head sadly.

‘Murder, rape and arson,’ he said, ruefully. ‘It’s not what we expect of the West End. Were the crimes related?’

‘We won’t know until we’ve interviewed the two soldiers,’ said Marmion. ‘One of them was certainly guilty of rape and might also have been responsible for the fire. But I think we can absolve the pair of them of the murder.’

‘On what grounds do you say that, Inspector?’

‘I’m going on what the victim told us – or, at least, on what her mother was able to tell us on the girl’s behalf. Ruth Stein left her father upstairs and went off to raise the alarm. The two men pounced on her in the alley. They could have come from the shop, of course,’ reasoned Marmion, ‘but they definitely did not come from the upstairs room where Mr Stein was murdered. After the rape, they went off in the opposite direction. The fire had taken hold on the shop by then.’

‘Somebody else killed him,’ concluded Keedy.

The commissioner sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

‘Do you have any theories about who that might be?’

‘We do, Sir Edward.’ Keedy glanced at Marmion. ‘As it happens, the inspector and I have slightly conflicting theories.’

‘What’s yours, Sergeant?’

‘Well,’ said Keedy, seizing his chance to impress, ‘we know for a fact that the property was attacked because it had a German name over it and obscenities were being chanted against all Germans. However, that may not be the explanation for the murder. I have a feeling – and it’s no more than a feeling, mark you – that Jacob Stein was killed because he was a Jew, and not because of any association with the enemy.’

‘What leads you to think that?’

‘I’ve been looking at some of the riots in the East End where they’ve been far more prevalent. The main targets were shops and houses owned by people of German origin. But they were not the only victims,’ said Keedy. ‘Some people took advantage of the situation to attack Jewish immigrants in general, especially those from Russia.’

‘You’ll no doubt remember the activities of the British Brothers’ League,’ said Marmion. ‘They organised constant demonstrations against Jewish immigration at the start of the century.’

‘I remember it vividly,’ said the commissioner. ‘They made a lot of noise until they got what they wanted – the Aliens Act. But that was ten years ago,’ he went on. ‘I thought the BBL more or less disappeared after 1905.’

‘So did I, Sir Edward,’ said Keedy, ‘but some of its members formed much smaller groups under other names. Jews continue to be their scapegoats. They blame them for everything. I’m wondering if Jacob Stein was killed by a member of one of these rabid anti-Semitic groups.’

‘It’s an interesting theory. What do you think, Inspector?’

‘It’s a line of inquiry that needs pursuing,’ said Marmion, ‘and I have 
men doing just that. But I still hold to the view that there’s a personal aspect to this case. Stein was murdered by someone who knew him and his routine at the shop. It was someone with an axe to grind, someone with a score to settle. Above all else, it was someone who knew where that safe was kept.’

‘That points to a present or former employee, then.’

‘We can discount the present ones, Sir Edward.’

‘What about former ones?’

‘There are two who’ve aroused our interest. One was middle-aged and left after a long time with the firm. The other was much younger and was – according to Mr Cohen, the manager – very angry at being dismissed. We’re urgently seeking both of them.’

‘You say that one was middle-aged, Inspector. Would this man have been physically capable of stabbing Mr Stein to death?’

‘Possibly not, Sir Edward.’

‘Then how can he be held culpable?’

‘Because he stage-managed it,’ said Marmion with growing certainty. ‘He knew the confusion that would be created by the attack on the shop and he hired someone to take full advantage of it. Jacob Stein was not killed accidentally, Sir Edward. His death was plotted and paid for in advance. In my opinion,’ he decided, ‘what confronts us is a bespoke murder.’

There had been a heady excitement when they first joined the army. They were treated as heroes by their families and friends. When they marched in uniform through the streets, they were cheered to the echo by large crowds. That was all in the past. There was no cheering now, only the distant boom and whizz of artillery. Oliver Cochran and John Gatliffe found a moment to have a cigarette together. They were camped with
their regiment to the west of Ypres where hostilities were continuing apace. Gatliffe had seen some of the wounded British soldiers being stretchered from the front.

‘It turned my stomach, Ol,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Keep away from that field hospital unless you want to spew up your dinner. I saw men with arms and legs missing and others who’d been blinded. One was crying because they’d shot his bollocks off.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘I don’t know how the stretcher-bearers can do their job.’

‘We do far worse to the Germans,’ insisted Cochran.

‘It’s not what I expected at all.’

‘War is war, Gatty. We’re not here to play ping-pong.’

‘The noise never stops – and I hate that terrible stink in the air.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘There was something else,’ said Gatliffe, ‘and it really scared me. They’re using poisonous gas, Ol. The Germans are attacking us with gas bombs.’