Anthem for Doomed Youth (23 page)

The boarding house was just a couple of minutes’ walk away. The inspector and a constable who knew the beat well were to go round to the alley at the back. Though terraced, their target was taller than its neighbours, they agreed, and easy to recognise from behind.

‘Er, if you don’t mind me making a suggestion, Chief Inspector,’ said the inspector as they reached the corner of the street, ‘Miss Dill is what they call a “gentlewoman in distressed circumstances.” She might take more kindly to you than to Mr Tring.’

Tom made an inarticulate sound of protest.

‘Don’t you worry about that, Inspector,’ said Alec. ‘DS Tring can do genteel with the best of them. Or jovial
commercial
, or tough customer. His size is intimidating, but he’s quick on his feet. If Rosworth is there, he’s much more likely to come quietly when he sees Tom at his door, and if he doesn’t, Tom can cope with him.’

‘Spare my blushes, Chief!’

The inspector looked Tom up and down. ‘Don’t say I wouldn’t go quietly myself,’ he admitted.

They split up. Alec and Tom walked briskly along the near side of the street, while Starke and a couple of detective constables strolled down the opposite pavement, apparently chatting.

The terraced row had no front gardens, just fenced areas with steps down to semi-basements, suggesting more
prosperous
times. Though it wasn’t really very late, Alec was relieved to see a light in the bay window at the front of the boarding house. Landladies, genteel or not, were not apt to be helpful if summoned unwillingly from their beds. Taking out his pipe, he made a great play of tapping out the dottle
on the fence, blowing out the last scraps of ash, taking out his tobacco pouch, selecting a pinch of tobacco and stuffing it into the bowl. The process of lighting it could be spun out indefinitely.

Meanwhile the three on the far side had stopped one house along, apparently engaged in argument. There were trees on that side, and they were nearly invisible in the shadow. And Tom had ascended the front steps to knock on Miss Dill’s front door. As Alec lit his first match, the fanlight above the door lit up, and the door was opened on a chain.

Tom raised his hat. ‘I do beg your pardon for disturbing you, madam,’ he said in the voice he kept for witnesses not merely genteel but aristocratic. ‘May I enquire, is Mr Rosworth at home?’

‘I believe not,’ said a thin, elderly voice. ‘I didn’t hear him come in, and he hasn’t left his key on the hook. I do insist on that. Suppose there were a fire and I didn’t know how many people were in the house?’

‘Very sensible, madam.’ Behind his back, Tom showed a thumbs-down sign. Alec, in any case, could hear every word.

‘I’m afraid Mr Rosworth is not an educated person – one has to take whomever one can find these days – but he is extremely reliable, although as a travelling man he cannot always let me know in advance when he will return.’

‘Quite understandable, madam. May I ask – But perhaps you’d allow me to come in for a moment instead of keeping you standing at the door?’

The door closed. The chain rattled. The door reopened. Tom disappeared within. Alec allowed the fourth match to light his pipe and, puffing, strolled across the street to join the disputatious group on the other side.

‘What did I tell you? Tring has a deuced smooth tongue. The old lady didn’t even ask who he was or what he wanted. One can’t help wondering whether she has to take in boarders because she lost her money to a con man.’

‘He didn’t have a chance to show his warrant card?’ Starke asked sharply. ‘He’ll show it once he’s inside?’

‘Of course, sir. From what I heard, it seems probable, but not certain, that Rosworth isn’t there. He may come home, and we’re a bit conspicuous. We’d better split up. You two—’ he indicated the constables ‘—cross over. Leisurely, don’t rush. One of you can go down the area steps next door, as if you’re visiting a maid or the occupant of the basement flat. Stay below street level. The other can walk back and forth, smoking and glancing at your watch from time to time, as if you’re waiting for your pal. You can whistle if you want, as long as you can listen at the same time. Off you go. You and I, sir, will just move closer to this tree, where the shadow’s deepest.’

‘Don’t you think – Sorry, Chief Inspector! You’re in charge.’

Alec managed not to grind his teeth. Superior officers accustomed to desk jobs were a real menace when they insisted on standing obbo. They’d almost always forgotten that patience was the name of the game.

‘We’ll just watch and listen, if you don’t mind, sir.’

Across the way, lights went on in the windows above the front door, successively on the first and second floors. Tom was on his way upstairs to make sure Rosworth really wasn’t in his room. A couple of minutes later, his silhouette appeared on the second-floor window blind. A few seconds of shadow-play clearly indicated a negative.

Alec released his held breath.

‘Should have gone on the stage,’ Starke murmured
appreciatively
as the top light went out.

The lower light disappeared.

‘Now he’ll have a nice chat with Miss Dill. Knowing Tring, he’ll be offered a cuppa and a slice of cake, too, lucky beggar.’

‘Peckish?’

‘Dinner seems a long time ago. I ate at five.’

‘Ah, those were the days! Grab a bite when you can. One tends to remember the occasional excitement and forget the inconveniences. I expect they’ll be able to exhume a few sandwiches for you when we get back to the station.’

‘By then, I might even be ready to eat them.’

‘You’re expecting to be here for—’

‘Hush! Someone’s coming.’

From the direction of the town centre, a man was walking towards them. His face, shadowed by his hat, was invisible. He was not noticeably tall, nor noticeably burly, but his brisk step suggested physical strength.

‘Rosworth?’ breathed the superintendent.

‘Could be. What little description we have is pretty vague, but such as it is, he matches.’

Alec recognised the approaching figure by his walk when he was still several houses away on the opposite side of the street.

‘It’s my man, sir. DC Piper. The one I sent to interview the supervisor of the brewery’s yard.’ He laid his hand on the super’s arm as Starke started to move. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll find us.’

‘Sorry!’ came a whispered apology. ‘I’m rustier than I thought. Must get out of the office more often. Of course, Rosworth may yet turn up.’

Ernie walked up to the officer who was strolling back and forth smoking. ‘Got a light, mate?’

‘Hang on.’ A book of matches appeared.

For no obvious reason, since the night was still, it took three strikes for Ernie’s Woodbine to catch. ‘Blast!’ and ‘Must be damp. This damn weather!’ came to Alec’s ears, but the scratch of the matches was louder than the exchange of information he knew was going on.

‘Ta, mate.’

Cigarette between his lips, Ernie came across the street in the leisurely manner Alec had recommended earlier to the two local DCs. His dark mac blended into the shadow
of the next tree, then he emerged briefly into comparative light before joining them in their own patch of shadow. He dropped the cigarette and ground out the remains with his heel.

‘Sir.’ He nodded to Starke, having evidently been told who he was. ‘Bad news, Chief.’

‘Hell!’ Alec swore softly but vehemently.

‘Not that bad! We’ve got a good chance at him. You want it here?’

‘He’s not likely to turn up?’

‘Shouldn’t think so.’

‘We’ll go back to the station. Your fag went out. Go back and get another light. Tell him he and his pal are on obbo till relieved. They don’t have to stay where they are; probably better over here. When Tom comes out, he’s to come to the station. You’d better keep straight on in the direction you were going, then head back through the alley behind the row. You’ll recognise the house?’

‘Chief!’ said Ernie reproachfully.

‘There’s a local inspector and a constable back there. Tell ’em the same: stay till relieved. Off you go.’

Ernie shook another cigarette from his packet. He crossed back to the other pavement. ‘Sorry, mate, it went out. Definitely damp.’

A further exchange of flame and information took place, then Ernie went briskly on his way. When he turned the corner, Alec and Starke sauntered out from their shelter and took the direct route back towards the station, their pace increasing as soon as they were out of sight of the house.

‘Both your men are admirable,’ Starke observed.

‘I rely on them a good deal. They both use their heads
and usually know what I want without long explanations. DS Tring is extremely good at what he does. DC Piper is headed upwards, if I don’t miss my guess. He’s young yet.’

‘I wonder what he meant … Well, no use speculating. We’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Sir, is the chief constable going to be a problem?
Whatever
Piper has to report, we’ll probably have to move fast. I won’t ask you to tell tales, of course, but I’d prefer to know what I’m likely to face in the way of interference, so that I can plan a way round—’

‘You leave Sir George to me. He’d like to have a finger in every pie, though he doesn’t understand police business. Occasionally he needs to be reminded of it.’ Starke sighed. ‘Bursting though I am with curiosity, you and your men had better find an out-of-the-way corner to do whatever you need to do. My men and the telephones and so on are at your disposal, of course. In that case, I hope you’ll let me know later what’s what.’

‘Of course, sir. I’m very grateful—’

‘Tush, man, as Sir George would say, we have a multiple murderer on the loose. Anything I can do to help.’

Ernie was on their heels when they reached the station. A Bentley was parked outside, a chauffeur lounging at the wheel.

‘Sir George’s,’ said Starke gloomily. They went in.

Sergeant Copeland looked up from something he was writing with a very industrious air. ‘Sir! Thank goodness you’re back! The CC is … a bit annoyed at finding nobody higher than a sergeant waiting for him. He went up to your office.’

‘Bloody furious, is he? Thanks, Sergeant, I’ll deal with him. Find a room down here to hide Mr Fletcher in, will
you? And don’t let anyone interrupt him except me or DS Tring.’ He made for the stairs.

‘Unless there’s a phone call or message from the Yard,’ Alec amended, ‘or if the blown-up photos arrive.’

‘A wire came just a minute ago, sir.’ Copeland held out a memo slip. ‘I was just logging it in. Very slowly, in case the CC came down again and found me with nothing to do.’

ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED RING CRANE YARD SOONEST MACKINNON

Alec passed it to Ernie. ‘I suppose you’ve already logged the time you received this?’ he asked the sergeant.

‘Yes. Sorry, sir, it’d be as much as my job’s worth to change it.’

‘Of course. Never mind, just don’t log us or Mr Starke into the station just yet, will you?’

‘Right you are, sir. Luckily the CC don’t concern himself with such petty details as log books. I take it you don’t want me to get the Yard on the line for you!’

‘No, but come to think of it, you’d better send a wire to DS Mackinnon: “Urgent all morning dailies hold space front-page photo,” signed, “Fletcher.”’

‘Will do. Now, where am I going to hide you? Short of the broom cupboard or the lock-up—’

‘Any office will do. If Mr Starke can’t hold Sir George off, I don’t want to look as if we’re hiding from him. We wouldn’t mind being interrupted by a cup of tea, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘No trouble at all, sir. Down the passage there, second door on the left, should suit. There’s a telephone if you need it.’

The room, with its drab paint and the well-worn
furniture
, was just as Alec expected. He and Ernie sat down on
either side of one of the two desks, Ernie already reporting before his trousers touched the seat.

‘I know where Rosworth ought to be, Chief. Course, I don’t know if he’s there. If he is, there’s a chance he may try a get-away to the Continent.’

‘Mackinnon says he’s arranged for the watch on all ports.’

‘On passenger ferries, not freighters. Mr Garvey says every few months the brewery ships a load over to Amsterdam and Rotterdam, via Harwich and The Hook. There’s hotels over there that cater to English businessmen, and they want English beer. Rosworth’s conscientious and reliable so it’s generally him that drives the stuff to Harwich and sees it on board. He actually goes on board to see it properly stowed, so I reckon he could stow himself away easy enough.’

‘When?’

‘He left midday yesterday, Mr McMullen not expecting his drivers to work on Sundays. Union members, TGWU, means overtime pay. The ship’s expected to load tomorrow morning and sail when the cargo’s all aboard. The harbour’s not tidal, it seems. But because it’s a freighter, not a ferry, the schedule’s erratic.’

‘All the same …’ Alec reached for the telephone. ‘Garvey gave you the name of the ship?’

‘SS
Mayfly
. May Line:
May Tree, May Queen
—’

‘Sergeant Copeland here,’ said the phone.

‘Copeland, it’s DCI Fletcher. I must send an urgent wire to the Harbour Master at Harwich.’

‘Just dictate it, sir, and I’ll phone it in. Ready when you are.’

As soon as Alec picked up the phone, Ernie had started writing. Now he pushed his notebook across the desk. He
had written a list of the essential facts, so that all Alec had to do was string them together in as few words as possible. With distaste, he began: ‘Epping Executioner …’ He hated the phrase, but it would get attention.

He didn’t want to waste time compressing his message into an absolute minimum number of words, so it came out rather lengthy. The Hertfordshire and Essex police could fight it out with the Met over who was to pay for it.

‘Details photograph follow,’ he ended, and signed it in full, ‘Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher CID Scotland Yard.’

‘Got it, sir.’

‘Read it back, please.’

Copeland obliged.

‘Right, thanks, send it.’ Once the cable was winging its way towards Harwich, Alec felt his tension lessen slightly. ‘Surely we’ve got him. If he goes there.’

‘Let’s hope. He left the brewery with the lorry on Saturday morning. If he went somewhere else with it, it’ll be found.’

‘But whether he’ll still be with it is another matter. Where’s that damn photograph? If it’s any good at all, we need to get it into the morning papers. The early editions will be going to press … Great Scott, is it really half past ten?’

‘Nearly. Chief, I think he probably will—’ Ernie stopped as the door opened.

Tom came in, carrying a tray with three mugs of tea. ‘Not a sausage.’ He sat down, shaking his head. ‘Waste of bloody time. The old duck said she’d never had such an
uncommunicative
lodger – paying guest – before. That’d be why he kept changing lodgings, Chief. Didn’t want to get too
pally with anyone, considering what was on his mind. Mr Copeland said we’re looking at Harwich?’

‘Explain, Ernie.’ Sipping tea, Alec listened closely to Ernie’s exposition, hoping some helpful scrap of
information
might come out that had previously eluded him.

The story was substantially the same, until Ernie said, ‘And I was just about to tell you, Chief: the last two
shipments
to Holland were about the times of the
disappearances
of the first two victims. Mr Garvey couldn’t give me exact dates – we’d have to go back to Hodder for those – but there’s always a couple of weeks’ notice.’

‘Ah!’ said Tom. ‘It looks as if Rosworth might have been planning all along to escape by sea.’

‘Possibly,’ Alec agreed cautiously. ‘More likely
coincidence
. He couldn’t possibly know that the bodies would be found so soon after a fresh burial.’ Remembering the stench of Halliday’s corpse, he amended his words, ‘Comparatively fresh. The dog might not have found it till a couple of weeks or even months later, long after the ship had sailed.’

Tom nodded. ‘True.’

‘Still, with no alternative we’ll have to concentrate on Harwich. I’d like to be there, but I’m going to have to return to the Yard to pacify the super and to make sure the photo gets to the papers pronto. I’ve a mind to send the two of you. You know everything there is to know. You can brief the Harbour Master, the Customs and Excise people, and the local police.’

‘You’re not expecting us to take charge, Chief!’ Tom protested.

‘Great Scott, no! Neither of you has the rank. But that might be better – if any of them are touchy, I might get tied
up in jurisdictional disputes. You two are more likely to be easily accepted in a purely advisory capacity. You’ll take our car. You know how to get to Harwich, Ernie?’

Ernie had studied a road-map of Essex when they were first called in to the triple murder. With an abstracted air, he now consulted the map in his head. ‘Bishop’s Stortford, Braintree, Colchester, I should think, Chief. It won’t take a moment to check the map in the car. Sixty miles or so, I reckon, and good roads. Shouldn’t be much traffic, so a couple of hours at most.’

‘Excellent. I’ll ask Superintendent Starke to telephone ahead to tell them you’re on your way with photos. He’ll get me back to town as quickly as possible, I’m sure. Thank
goodness
he’s cooperative, and seems able to cope with his CC.’

The telephone bell rang. Ernie picked up the receiver. ‘DC Piper.’ He listened. ‘That was quick! Yes, please, Mr Copeland, right away. The photos have come, Chief.’

Copeland came in with a large manila envelope. Handing it over, he said, ‘The photographer’s my cousin. He was in his darkroom printing up some christening photos from this morning, so he got onto it right away. He’s put the negative in, in case you need more copies, but he’d like it back, please. And the print – he thought you might need the names.’

‘You have useful relatives, Sergeant.’ Alec took out the wad of prints and set it in the middle of the desk, face up. They all crowded round.

It was a good, clear photo, there was no denying that. Nor was it possible to deny the accuracy of Shadd’s description: darkish hair and nondescript features. The grim
expression
did not make the thin face more distinctive. Since the
disastrous failure of the General Strike the previous month, the faces of many working-men bore the same look.

Alec sighed. ‘By the time that’s been reproduced in the papers, it could be any one of millions. Might help in Harwich. Here you are, Tom.’ He returned half the pile to the envelope and handed it over. ‘Off you go, the two of you. If he’s there, you’ll find him.’

Copeland wished them luck, then turned back to Alec. ‘What’s next, sir?’

‘I’ve got to get back to London as fast as possible, if not faster. Tell me how to find your super and the CC, and put these in an envelope for me, please. I’ll pick it up at your desk as I leave.’

As Alec took the stairs two at a time, a bold idea came to him. He knocked on the door Copeland had directed him to and went straight in. With Starke was a balding man in evening dress, sitting bolt upright and looking irritable.

‘Here’s DCI Fletcher now, Sir George,’ said the
superintendent
with relief.

‘Chief Inspector, I really cannot put up with being kept in ignorance of what’s going on in my county!’

‘I’ve no desire or intention of keeping you in ignorance, sir. However, the investigation has moved out of your county for the present. My men are on their way to Harwich.’

‘That’s no—’

‘If you’ll pardon me, sir, it’s of the utmost urgency that I return to the Yard with the greatest possible speed. I wondered whether perhaps the motorcar you came here in would be able to get me there quickly. If you can spare the time, I could brief you on the way.’

Sir George looked flabbergasted. ‘In
my
car?’

‘My chaps have taken mine. Is yours a powerful vehicle?’

‘Good God, yes, man. It’s the latest Lancia. And my chauffeur is an excellent driver. No nonsense about speed limits, eh? with you aboard on an urgent errand. What are we waiting for?’