Death of a Bovver Boy (16 page)

‘What have you got?' asked the
discothecaire
anxiously.

Carolus replied in one word.

‘Evidence,' he said.

Swindleton looked apoplectic but ignoring his supplications to inform him, Carolus went out to his car. From behind him on the kerb Carolus heard Swindleton's protestations of innocence, of ignorance, of the best intentions as he drove away.

He reached the Wheatsheaf in time for his appointment and found Grimsby waiting for him. The two talked for a long time over their drinks in a quiet corner of the bar. Finally Carolus seemed to be summing it up when he said—‘What it looks like is that it all depends on whether a little girl of twelve keeps her word to a young blackguard or not. And if she does we may never clear up this case.'

‘Something like that. Of course, she may have forgotten
by now. Little girls of that age have short memories.'

‘No,' said Carolus. ‘I don't think Liz will have forgotten. Which reminds me—I want to show you something.'

Carolus took out his pocket diary and from its interior produced a strand of hair, about four inches long.

‘What's this?' asked Grimsby.

‘One for the forensic experts. I'm sure you found some hair in Swindleton's cellar which had escaped being burnt. What I want to know is if this matches up and—if they can say—was it cut off at about the same time.'

Grimsby smiled.

‘So you have to come to us for that sort of thing? It's all very well, Carolus, but you expect what you call the forensic experts to do all the work, then you weigh in with a spectacular solution which may or may not be the correct one.'

‘I know! Shameful, isn't it? But you have all the facilities and I'm just an amateur. Hullo, what's the matter with Goad?'

‘I didn't know he was here,' said Grimsby.

‘He had just been called out to the phone and he's coming over here in a hurry.'

Goad was in civvies, but though he moved quickly as Carolus had said there seemed to be nothing excited about his haste.

‘There's a pretty violent fight on in the Spook Club,' he said quite calmly, ‘between skinheads and greasers, I gather. If you think it's any concern of yours come on down and see it.'

Carolus and Grimsby drank up and followed Inspector Goad to the door.

‘We'll take my car,' said Grimsby. ‘I shouldn't like to see your beautiful paintwork damaged.'

They did this and Carolus wondered as they drew up whether behind the blinds of the house opposite Roger and June were watching.

The strangest thing they noticed as they went down to the cellar was the absence of noise. There must have been a dozen youths mawling, kicking, landing powerful blows on one another and yet beyond a few grunts and the sound of scuffling there was almost no sound.

Carolus saw Gil Bodmin at once. His shirt was torn to rags and his big fists flayed about, not aimlessly but with purposeful effect. He heard an ugly sound as Gil landed a powerful blow on—Phil was it? The longhaired boy went down to the floor and tried to protect his head from the boots that milled around and over him. Gil at once looked for other prey and seeing a youngster among the greasers lifted him bodily and threw him into the most crowded collection of the enemy.

Two of these had bottles which had been broken off against the wall. They held these by the necks with their rings of jagged glass pointing outward, and with their backs to the wall waited the onslaught of Gil and his friends. It was apparent that the offensive was taken by the skinheads while the greasers who were fewer in number held a defensive though no less aggressive role.

From among the skinhead ranks Trimmer suddenly broke loose and Carolus saw that he held a knife, a dangerous-looking thing such as those with which the Commandos had been armed during the war. He was about to take it away from Trimmer, who appeared to be insane, when the police came down the cellar steps and went to work on the combatants.

There were at least fourteen of them and they spread out across the cellar and advanced shoulder to shoulder like the Greeks or Romans in ancient battles. Within three minutes of their entrance order was restored and there was time to examine the damage among the boys who had fought. There was quite a lot of blood about and one boy had received a knife wound in the shoulder, another was moaning and holding his head which had been knocked back violently against the wall.

A big sergeant demanded—‘What was it all about?'

‘Skinheads!' said Des Grayne and made as if to spit.

‘Greasers!' responded Trimmer, but Gil Bodmin said nothing.

The Sergeant addressed himself to him, Gil, specifically.

‘What were you doing down here? This isn't your manor.'

Gil said sulkily—‘We were bored. We came visiting.'

‘Oh you did, did you? You'll come and visit the Station, Bodmin. We've had enough trouble with you. Who let you in here?'

‘Who do you think? The hero of the greasers, Mister Swindleton.'

Swindleton who had remained near the top of the steps said—‘That's not true, Sergeant. I never let them in here. I don't want them round my place. They always cause trouble.'

‘Oh, shut your mouth,' said Gil. ‘You know you telephoned for us and said the cellar door was open.'

‘I didn't!' cried Swindleton hysterically. ‘I never did anything of the sort! They came on their own without any sort of warning and rushed down to the cellar. My boys were quite unprepared.'

‘Your boys?' said Des. ‘Who are you calling your
boys? Just because some of us used your lousy Club. If you mean those that push pot for you…'

Swindleton became dignified. ‘Des!' he said in an injured voice. ‘I'm surprised at you!'

But no one else was, it seemed, and the police started taking the boys upstairs one after another to the waiting van.

‘Don't start trouble now,' said the Sergeant, looking at Gil. ‘It won't do you any good.'

After a moment Gil seemed to agree and went with the rest though with an ugly expression of defiance on his face.

Carolus was surprised to see, in a very poor condition and being helped towards the stairs Roger Carver. As he passed Carolus he said sarcastically, ‘Thank you very much. Nice way of keeping a confidence, I must say.'

‘There was no confidence,' Carolus replied.

‘Not for you, evidently,' said Roger with heightened sarcasm. ‘I suppose what I told you was meant to be shouted round to all the skinheads in town, wasn't it?'

‘There was no obligation on me to hush up anything you told me. You seemed pleased enough to talk yourself,' said Carolus. ‘But if you want to know your name was never mentioned to Gil Bodmin by me.'

‘Then what brought the skinheads down here?' asked Roger. ‘They were looking for me.'

Carolus said nothing more but did not feel very pleased with himself. It was true that Gil Bodmin must have gathered how Carolus had obtained his information about Gil's late visit that Saturday night to the Spook Club and it might be that he had acted on it and caused the barney Carolus had just witnessed. On the other hand it could have been as Gil said, that Swindleton had telephoned to the skinheads that their
enemy were trapped in the cellar and the door was open.

‘What was all that about?' asked Grimsby when the police had taken Roger away.

‘You'll hear it all later,' promised Carolus. ‘He accused me of breaking faith with him.'

‘And had you?'

‘I suppose I may have done in a way. At least I'm not quite happy about it.'

‘What now?' asked Grimsby.

‘Goad's over there. Ask him whether he would like to hear what little bits I've managed to string together. If so we'll go up to his place or better still, ask him if he will come over to Newminster.'

‘I'll try. He reads whodunnits so he might like to hear what you've got to say.'

‘Bad logic, but it might work. I've got one last job to do then I'll be with you.'

Grimsby nodded and hurried in pursuit of the Inspector. Carolus drove to 47 Docker Street.

He found Liz indoors—evidently Mrs Bodmin was taking her guardianship seriously. But Liz was alone and when Carolus came in from the street she announced quite gleefully.

‘I'm not allowed out.'

‘Who said so?'

‘Mum did. She says the coalman will take me away in a sack if I go out alone.'

That surely was stretching it a little far, thought Carolus, but nodded gravely.

‘Where is your mum?' he asked.

‘She's in the lavortree,' said Liz.

That produced a silence between them which lasted until Mrs Bodmin appeared.

‘Now Liz,' she said, ‘you be a good girl and go and
play with Freda Nustle for a little while. I'll call for you when I've finished talking to this gentleman.'

‘Don't want to,' said Liz.

‘Now run along and don't be naughty, otherwise you know what it'll be.'

‘Freda Nustle says coalmen don't put little girls in sacks.'

‘You tell her she's a story then, because your mum says they do, if you don't behave yourself. Now run along with you!'

As soon as the child had gone out Mrs Bodmin nodded vigorously to Carolus.

‘I've got it all out of her. Every word. Only I've written it down because I couldn't bear to talk about it. It's wicked, that's what it is and if there's a God in heaven he'll know the punishment. I'm sure I can't think of one bad enough.'

Out of the drawer in the dresser she brought out some sheets of paper and handed them to Carolus.

‘Now you mind what you do with that,' she said. ‘Because I don't want my little girl's name talked about, nor me either for not looking after her, though how I could be expected to when I'm at work all day I
don't
know, and her only twelve. It's a pity her father isn't alive because he'd have something to say, you can be sure of that. What makes it worse is that Liz is a good little girl and not a bit like that, or anything of the sort. It makes you feel queer to think about it, and to think it was going on all that time and me having no idea about it. I don't know!

‘Anyway you tell anyone you have to tell, otherwise keep it to yourself. As I say it's not something you want talked about, is it?'

‘What about Liz? Do you think she'll talk about it. To her friend Freda, for example?'

‘She'd be ashamed. I feel certain of that. Look at the way she wouldn't tell me for a long time and then came out with it all of a sudden. She's a funny child but I don't think she'd ever talk to Freda Nustle, or anyone else. ‘Ark at them now, the way they're enjoying themselves! That's Mrs Donkin's little boy they're running after. They'll have his big sister after them in a minute and she'll give them what for. That's children for you—they must be making a noise or getting up to mischief. Not that Liz is as bad as some, or Freda either. Only where it is, her mother likes a drop now and again and it's not good for her with that indigestion she's got. I mean she's all wind and the last thing she should take is light ale. If I ever take anything, which is seldom, I like a drop of gin. That does you good, I always say, not these gassy drinks. But I suppose you have to keep off it on your job. It would never do for you to get muddled between one and another when you're trying to find out the truth about anything, would it?'

Carolus was determined not to break the flow which he enjoyed. But Mrs Bodmin herself seemed to do so.

‘Well, I must See About something,' she said. ‘This'll never do. And you keep what's on that paper to yourself, except what you have to tell the police. You'll find it all there. Every word of it. And I only wish I didn't have to write it, but sometimes you can't keep things to yourself, can you?'

Carolus did not feel that an answer was necessary.

‘I'm having a few friends in this evening,' said Carolus to Mrs Stick next day. ‘Perhaps we could have a cold buffet?'

‘Buffets, sir, I thought those were the places on railway stations where you get sandwiches.'

Carolus smiled.

‘We shall have sandwiches too, Mrs Stick. Only better ones I hope. You see I want you and Stick to come as guests.'

‘As guests, sir? Then who's going to get everything ready, I'd like to know? Besides, it wouldn't be Right.'

‘Mr Gorringer is coming,' said Carolus encouragingly.

‘I shouldn't mind that so much, not after we went on that cruise with him. Only, what I say is…'

‘You come, Mrs Stick, because tonight will be the last word on the case which you and Stick started me off on.'

‘You mean about that poor young boy that was killed falling off his motor-bike?'

‘You can put it like that. At least you know what I'm talking about.'

‘I daresay Stick will, he having a good memory for
anything like that. He told me at the time he'd never forget accidentally getting hold of one of the boy's hands and finding it like an icicle.'

Mr Gorringer was no more enthusiastic about the occasion in prospect.

‘While I appreciate your including myself in your audience, my dear Deene, I cannot but feel that on this occasion I have played a very minor role in your investigations. It scarcely merits the privilege you offer me.'

‘I might say that all you did on this occasion was to remind me of when term would start. But I shan't do that, if only for the sake of your interest in other cases, I do hope you will care to hear the few details I have to give.'

‘Most assuredly,' said Mr Gorringer. ‘Most assuredly. You will, I surmise, invite Hollingbourne since he was able to furnish you with certain details of the victim's conduct?'

‘Hollingbourne has taken his brood to a holiday camp, I understand. Won't be back till a day or two before term begins.'