The Great Betrayal (11 page)

‘When you’re a little older. Adventures can be a bit frightening sometimes.’

‘When I’m five?’

‘No. Maybe when you’re seven or eight. We’ll see.’ She tucked the bedclothes around his neck and kissed him goodnight,

‘Is Grandpapa going to run away again?’

‘Run away? He didn’t run away, Adam. Why should he do that? He loves it here with you and me. He made a mistake and wandered away and got lost and got on a bus and ended up in the big store.’ Smiling at her son, she smoothed his hair. ‘Go to sleep, Adam. I promise you there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘I wish Papa was at home.’

‘So do I, Adam.’

‘When will he come home?’

‘Soon.’

‘Only soon?’

‘
Very
soon!’ she said with a laugh. ‘Would you like to say a little prayer for Grandpapa?’

Adam nodded eagerly and put his hands together and closed his eyes. ‘Please God will you find Grandpapa when he gets lost because he doesn’t mean it. And make Papa come home soon. Amen.’ Opening his eyes, he looked at his mother hopefully.

‘Just right!’ she told him. ‘Now we mustn’t worry any more.’ She settled him comfortably between the sheets and kissed him goodnight. When she left the bedroom she left the door ajar so that she would hear him if he called out.

‘Very soon?’ she whispered unhappily and wished, not for the first time, that John had a steady job and worked from nine until five. What would he say if she ever asked him to give up his work for the government? She made her way downstairs knowing full well that she would never be able to ask him, and that if she did, the answer would be ‘no’.

George had already gone to bed. Lydia had given him a mug of Ovaltine and one of the tablets which helped him to sleep. He had fallen asleep within minutes, and she hoped he would sleep right round until the morning. To forestall any more discussion about the day’s alarms, Lydia asked Mr Phipps about his day.

He considered the question seriously. ‘Not a great deal going on round here except a fire in a stables at the end of Shardeloes Road. It’s now a smoking mess, but the lads contained the fire very quickly so there was no damage to the adjacent properties. No one hurt, but the family cat got his fur singed!’ He shrugged. ‘Could have been a lot worse.’

‘And the robbery – Glazers, wasn’t it? Are you any nearer finding out who did it?’

He sat up a little straighter, she noticed.

‘Well, things have moved on a bit, Mrs Daye. The man who was knocked unconscious has died, which means we’re now investigating a murder as well as an armed robbery. We do have some vital clues – our witness has given us a description of one of the men who carried out the robbery, we’re still assuming the driver is called William – and we do have a clearer idea of how the whole thing developed.’

Now he leaned forward eagerly, and Lydia could see how important it was to him. A truly dedicated officer, she thought, impressed.

‘There were two assistants in the shop,’ he went on. ‘One of them female. There was one male customer when the two men barged in, passing the witness who was outside.’

‘He was lucky not to be involved.’

‘He
was
involved. The taller of the two men held a gun and threatened to shoot anyone who moved. While the second man smashed the glass of the counter display case, the customer took it into his head to tackle the gunman and, for his pains, he was hit on the head with the pistol and fell heavily to the floor. He lay there unconscious while the female assistant began screaming.’

‘So no one was shot.’

‘No, but the would-be hero is the unfortunate man who died of a head wound.’

‘It must have been terrifying for the young woman assistant!’

‘It was. She said afterwards that she kept screaming deliberately in the hope that someone would come to investigate. Quick thinking on her part.’

‘I don’t think I’d have been that smart! I would probably have fainted!’

‘Of course you wouldn’t, Mrs Daye. You underestimate yourself. It was all too much for her, though, poor woman. That evening she collapsed from the shock – although she later recovered – and took the following day off work. The second assistant wisely did nothing, but kept his hands in the air as ordered. Always better to obey in cases like that. No heroics. That’s the perceived wisdom in the police force, although there are always people who feel the need to “have a go”!’

‘I suppose they must feel responsible. If you’re the manager of a jeweller’s shop and the valuables are in your care, you may fear that you will be blamed by the shop’s owner.’

‘But it’s all insured.’ Leonard sighed. ‘Gold watches, silver necklaces, a few diamond rings and a selection of valuable brooches, bracelets – the usual stuff which is easily disposed off illegally either in this country or in Europe. Probably all gone by now.’ He shrugged. ‘A sleight of hand! That’s the way I see it. We sent out a list of stolen articles, but we’re not hopeful.’

‘And they got clean away?’

‘Unfortunately. Escaped in a waiting car. And all we’ve got is a corpse who has now been identified. Married with young children.’

‘Poor wife!’

‘Indeed! A young family to bring up all on her own.’

‘And a very lonely life.’ Lydia reminded herself how lucky she was to have John even though he was away so much. Seeing that Mr Phipps now looked somewhat disconsolate she added, ‘Your work must be extremely frustrating at times.’

He nodded, but then forced a smile. ‘But we haven’t given up yet. It’s early days in a case like this, and now that there’s a charge of murder likely the Met will put more resources at our disposal. We don’t have much to go on, but we do have a couple of fingerprints.’

‘Ah! I’ve heard of them.’

‘Fingerprinting is a real breakthrough and will be more important as time goes on. There’s been a department set up in New Scotland Yard, and it’s going to revolutionize the system of detection.’

Amused by his earnest manner, Lydia smiled. ‘You love your work,’ she told him. ‘I can see how much it means to you.’

He relaxed a little. ‘It does, that’s true, but my mother says I talk about it to the exclusion of everything else! Have I been boring you?’

‘Certainly not. Your passion has impressed me, Mr Phipps.’

He rolled his eyes humorously. ‘I’ve never been called passionate before!’

‘Oh, but I think you are!’ she insisted. Suddenly, without any warning, she found herself wondering whether he was passionate in his ‘other life’ – when he was not a police officer – and felt herself blushing. Perhaps her comment had sounded too personal. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

Seeing her confusion he said, ‘I know what you meant, Mrs Daye.’

Lydia struggled to change the subject. ‘So am I now the best informed “civilian” in London?’ She chanced a quick look at his face.

‘Probably.’ He laughed. ‘Mind you, we can’t only rely on the fingerprinting. We do have our informants, and sooner or later someone will let slip something. The fact that there were three of them makes it more likely that there’ll be a “falling out”. No honour among thieves! And when we get them they’ll go down – and the one responsible for the death will possibly hang! It’s not called the full might of the law for nothing.’

Awed by his manner and obvious belief in the justice system, Lydia was inexplicably aware of a slight shiver down her spine. The full might of the law! The familiar phrase was being brought into sharp focus tonight in her own kitchen.

George had been in bed for nearly two hours, but although he was exhausted by his fright earlier in the day, he could not sleep. The unfortunate episode had brought home to him the serious state of his mind – something he had been trying to ignore for weeks. Ironically, the confusion he had felt throughout the situation had now vanished, leaving him with an unpleasantly clear memory of the disaster. There had been a pretty young woman called Miss Ebdon who sold cosmetics . . . and an old woman called Cope – or was it Cape? And a young Mr Robbins had escorted him to the gentlemen’s lavatories. What on earth had they thought of him, he wondered despairingly. A pathetic old man losing his mind!

Dr Wills had called in to see him and reassure Lydia, and that visit had further depressed him. Dr Wills was a familiar figure, but now, although he was not sixty, he was talking about giving up the practice because his wife’s health was causing concern. A new doctor by the name of Lampitt or Norbit . . . or was it Nesbit?

‘Something like that,’ he murmured. This Nesbit fellow would eventually take over. He would be what George thought of as ‘an unknown quantity’, and that was worrying him. In the past George had been able to talk to Dr Wills man to man, but a new doctor, young and with less experience, might prove less understanding of George’s particular problems.

‘Not good news!’ he groaned aloud, but then stiffened as he caught the sound of footsteps along the landing and the flickering glimmer of a candle showed through the partly opened door. Possibly Lydia, coming to check up on him, he thought resentfully, to reassure herself that he had not made another dash for freedom. Closing his eyes, he pretended to be asleep as the door opened wider and she moved quietly towards the bed.

‘Father?’ she whispered. ‘Are you awake? Do you need anything?’

Abruptly, he gave up the pretence. ‘Yes!’ he snapped. ‘I do need something! A sharp blow on the head with a large hammer! Put me out of my misery!’ He regretted the words as soon as they were uttered, but it was too late to retract them. Now she would be upset, he thought miserably. She was a tender plant and would take his careless words to heart.

‘Father! Don’t say such terrible things!’ She leaned over him, and he could clearly see the concern on her face and was ashamed of himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘Forgive me, dear. I’m not myself right now.’ Oh Lord. What a stupid thing to say, he thought, but he blundered on regardless. ‘I don’t know who I am, but . . .’

Lydia took hold of his hand. ‘You’re my father and I love you.’

‘I’m a burden to you.’ His voice wavered.

‘Nonsense.’

‘I know I am. I’m a burden to myself!’

‘And if I were ill, would you call me a “burden”?’

‘Of course not, Lydia.’ He sighed. He rarely won an argument with his daughter.

‘Well, there you are, Father.’ She smiled, squeezing his hand. ‘I rest my case.’

Oh dear. She was being flippant. Trying to humour him. He swallowed hard, forbidding any tears to run down his cheeks.

‘Mr Robbins,’ he cried, apropos of nothing. ‘He took me to the lavatory and waited outside the door as though I were a child! So humiliating.’

‘Don’t think about it, Father. It’s all over and forgotten.’

He continued as though she had not spoken. ‘And the old biddy I knocked over. She had so many parcels and a really stupid hat . . . knitted with scraps of wool. All different colours. A small woman. Knee high to a grasshopper. That’s how my mother would have described her.’ He gave a shaky laugh. At least the tears had retreated.

Lydia asked, ‘Did you take the sleeping pill the doctor gave you?’

He nodded. ‘But it obviously didn’t work.’

‘Would you like another mug of Ovaltine and a biscuit? You may be hungry. You didn’t eat much at supper.’

George felt tears pressing at his eyelids and blinked them back. ‘That would be nice. Thank you.’ Anything to get his daughter out of the room, he thought bitterly. He couldn’t stand her kindness a moment longer – it was undermining him.

Suddenly, he recalled being bullied at that awful boarding school. He had suffered the bullying in silence without giving way, but as soon as the house matron found out and sympathized with him, he broke down and wept . . . Lord! How he had hated that school. His mother had promised him that if he wasn’t happy there he could leave, but how could he have faced his father? ‘Pull yourself together, boy!’ he’d have said. ‘I survived it, and so can you.’

Survival. That was all he had left to look forward to before he died. Now all he needed, he told himself, was time to think. There must surely be a way out of a future which was looking so dreadfully bleak.

Willis Burke’s dreary room looked smaller than ever with three of them in it. Willis sat on the bed, which sagged alarmingly under his weight. Sidney stood by the window, keeping watch for any undesirables who might approach the house, and Don sat backwards on the single chair, his arms draped over the back of it. No one knew how to start the conversation which had now become inevitable.

At last Don said, ‘So where is it?’

Willis pointed to the bottom drawer of his cheap wardrobe. ‘Wrapped in a sack,’ he added.

‘I told you to hide it somewhere safe.’ Don glared at him. ‘Anyone could find it there!’

‘You didn’t say where. How do I know where to hide it? It’s your stupid gun, not mine!’

‘Christ, Burke, I trusted you to find somewhere better than the bottom of your ruddy wardrobe.’

‘Like where?’

Don glanced round the room. ‘Like up the chimney, maybe. Or . . . inside a pillow. Use your imagination, can’t you?’

Willis said, ‘I tell you, it’s not staying here. You take it when you go!’

Sidney gazed fixedly out of the window. His face was set in sulky lines, and he said nothing. Disaster was staring them in the face, he thought with a sick feeling of despair. This time it had gone too far, and he, Sidney, was not to blame.

After a brief hesitation, Willis walked to the wardrobe, pulled open the drawer and withdrew the bundle. He tossed it on to the bed. ‘You look after it since you’re so clever,’ he told Don shakily. ‘I don’t want it any more. You’re the one that did it. You’re the one that got us into this mess!’

Sidney said, ‘He’s right, Don! He was only the driver.’

‘Only?’ Willis scowled. ‘If it wasn’t for me you’d have got caught! If I wasn’t outside waiting for you in the motor . . . And all I get is a measly fifth of the take. Not that it was much this time. Less than half we got two years back. You two are slipping, if you want my opinion. A lot of effort and risk for not much dosh.’