After the Mourning (28 page)

This time the Nail didn’t glow. It just dripped a thick, dark liquid into the flames, which sizzled and sang as she held it there.

‘My God!’ I heard Ernie say. ‘Is that . . .’

‘The Fourth Nail, yes,’ Beauty said. ‘See how it bleeds?’ And then she looked right at me and said, ‘That is the true blood of Christ, Mr Undertaker. It bleeds for us that our suffering might one day be at an end. ’Tis a good thing, a pure thing . . .’

I contemplated the long, dark spike as the liquid oozed from its ancient, stubby head in what was, I admit, a most miraculous fashion. But even then my brain was searching for how it was done, eyes raking the girl’s hand for signs of injury.

‘You must have faith in the power of the good,’ Beauty said.

‘But only if you’re a bit stupid.’ It was a male voice. A little sharp like a Londoner’s, but not as harsh as that. It certainly wasn’t in the least bit countrified, like the Gypsies’ way of speech. I didn’t even have to turn to see who it was, though, because he’d already moved himself between me and the fire and taken hold of Beauty’s wrist in one of his big, hard copper’s hands.

Chapter Nineteen

‘
W
hat are you doing here?’ I asked Inspector Richards. Just beyond the fire I could see that Beauty’s face was contorted with pain as the policeman twisted and pummelled the hand with the Nail in its grasp.

Ernie Sutton, ever the gentleman, jumped to his feet and said,‘Stop that! You’re hurting her!’

But Richards’s other hand held a gun that he pointed very quickly at the clergyman.

I swallowed hard to lubricate my throat, then said, ‘You’ve been looking for the Nail all the time.’

But Richards wasn’t listening to me.‘Give it!’ he said to Beauty, as he dragged her hand into the flames below. Beauty screamed. I looked at
drabalo
Mary, my mind shouting that she wasn’t doing anything to help Beauty Lee. It was only then that I realised Richards wasn’t alone.

‘Thank you very much, Miss Lee!’ Richards held the Nail aloft so that the three men with him could see it.

Beauty, now in the arms of her little sisters, snarled and cursed at him as she nursed her injured hand with her undamaged fingers.

Sitting there watching all of this unfold in front of me, I’d never felt so useless in my life. In fact, not only was I useless I was also, I imagined, the reason why Richards was where he was now.

‘You followed me,’ I said, as the blood from the Nail rolled down his hand and on to his wrist.

‘Your barmy cousin told me where you were,’ Richards said, not taking his eyes off the Nail. ‘“Silly old Frank might want to go out, but we know that he shouldn’t,” is what I said to her. “But don’t you worry your auntie or your cousins about it, love,” I said. “You just come over to my car, parked round the back of good old Frank’s shop, and you tell me. I’ll take care of it for you.”’ He laughed.

Bloody stupid Stella!

‘I work for Scotland Yard, you see,’ he continued. ‘People trust us. I knew you’d come looking for these Gyppos. Still got poor Lily’s body and, of course, I’d put a lot of worries into your mind about what you had and hadn’t seen the night you got shot. I knew if they were here they’d speak to you. All we had to do was follow.’

‘So why do you want the Nail?’ I asked, as one of Richards’s men, a chap of about forty in plainclothes, pushed Ernie Sutton back towards the ground with the stock of his pistol. ‘Is it money – or are you a friend of Herr Hitler, like Captain Mansard?’

Richards smiled. ‘I’m a bit of both.’

‘Oh, well, that’s a new one on me,’ I said.

‘Mansard was put in charge of recovering this item and he failed,’ Richards said. ‘If you and the Jewess hadn’t survived, we’d never have known where to start. You were a real stroke of luck.’

‘Oh, good. So, are you saying there’s groups of you Nazis?’ I said, getting angry in spite of all my pain. ‘You’re all over the shop!’

Richards bent down and pushed his face into mine. ‘We didn’t just fuck off at the end of the thirties, Mr Hancock. And if you’re wondering how we get into the jobs and places that we do, remember that our leader is a baronet.’

‘Mosley’s in prison!’ Ernie said. ‘Best place for him too.’

‘Oh, shut up, Vicar, for Christ’s sake!’ Richards said. ‘Can’t you people see how wrong all your dealing with Jews and Gypsies and other filthy types is? We have a chance here, with Adolf Hitler, to clean up our countries and—’

‘Grab whatever the Jews, the Gypsies and other dark types we don’t much like have and take it for ourselves,’ I said.

He gave me such a contemptuous look that I was forced to turn away.

‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you, you dirty little wog?’ he said. ‘God, I’ve been aching to say that to you, Hancock!’ And then he smiled at one of his men. ‘Mr Saville?’

‘Yes, Inspector?’

‘Go and tell the others they can make a start, will you?’

‘Yes, sir.’ He moved off in the direction of the larger part of the Gypsy camp.

‘We’ve more blokes over there,’ Richards explained. ‘There’s a lot of us.’

‘All for one small piece of metal that bleeds,’ I said, as I glanced once again at the still red and sticky thing in Richards’s hand. Because I hadn’t actually seen what had happened between Stojka and Captain Mansard, I still had it in my head that perhaps the Nail might attack a person who stole it in order to protect itself. But, of course, it didn’t, because that was bonkers. It sat in his hand as he talked about our deaths.

‘Once we’ve finished you lot off we’ll be on our way,’ he said. He looked at Ernie and frowned. ‘Sorry about you, of course, Vicar, but if we’re to get this treasure and ourselves out to the estuary tonight . . . We’ve people there waiting for us.’

‘To take you to Germany?’ Ernie asked.

‘Well, we can hardly go back to Scotland Yard, now, can we?’ Richards said. ‘We’ve only got a few hours before they realise something’s gone wrong.’

‘How do you know that honest coppers from Scotland Yard haven’t followed you?’ I asked.

‘Because I’m a very senior officer,’ Richards said. ‘My guv’nors trust me. And those who don’t trust me share my beliefs.’ He laughed, then looked at the other two blokes with him and frowned. ‘What’s Saville doing, for God’s sake?’

‘Don’t know, Guv.’

‘Ah . . .’

‘So, who are you meeting out in the estuary, then?’ I said. No one, I think, wants to die without knowing as much as possible about why it’s happening. ‘We’ve had MPs and coppers who’ve turned out to be Nazis. Who else? A judge, couple of priests . . .’

Richards smiled. ‘Mr Lovett makes his humble living fishing for cockles,’ he said. ‘We have people in all walks of life who want to help us – you’d be surprised – many of them high up too, especially in the police. We don’t bother ourselves with recruiting silly little people from places like your local cop shop, Mr Hancock.’

I saw Beauty’s eyes widen, and I thought it was with fear so I glanced around to see which of Richards’s men was pointing his gun at her. I was about to ask him – I knew in vain – to let the girl and her sisters go. But as it happened Beauty’s eyes looked as they did for quite another reason.

‘You know, you should think twice or more about taking the Michael out of stations like Plaistow,’ Sergeant Hill said, as he walked towards Richards with one hand out in front of him. ‘I’ll have that weapon if—’

Richards laughed. ‘I can shoot you along with this lot.’ And then I saw his face drop. We were not alone, I found, as I looked around the fire, first at the Gypsies and then at Richards’s men. There were other coppers too, some in uniform I recognised from Plaistow, and some in plainclothes, with guns, I did not.

‘Your immediate guv’nor don’t, I’m afraid, neither trust nor agree with you, Mr Richards, and if you want to know where your Mr Saville and them other blokes of yours are, they’re with that other group of officers over there.’ He pointed towards the larger Gypsy camp. ‘Under arrest, for treason.’

I thought that Richards, if not the blokes with him, might put up a fight. But then I think that he recognised some of the faces of the men with guns who now surrounded us. They’d probably worked with him at Scotland Yard. And, if that was so, he had betrayed them as much, if not more than, the rest of us.

But although he gave the gun to Sergeant Hill, seemingly with no resistance, the Nail proved a bit more tricky. When the sergeant moved forward to take it from him, Richards stepped backwards and clutched the gory thing to his chest.

Sergeant Hill sighed. ‘Look, mate,’ he said to Richards, ‘hanging on to what isn’t yours ain’t going to do you no good. Give it to me.’

‘No.’ Richards stepped back towards the edge of the fire.

‘It’s no use to you!’ Sergeant Hill persisted. ‘You don’t know what it is or how to use it. Give it—’

‘No!’

‘Give it to the sergeant, please, Inspector,’ one of the plainclothes men said, as he trained his pistol on Richards. ‘I’d hate to have to shoot you, sir.’

Richards looked mad. Before, had I been asked, I would’ve said he had to be one of the sanest men on the face of the earth. But he wasn’t now. Ernie Sutton opened his mouth but before he could speak, Richards said, ‘Save it, Vicar.’ Then the Nail was in the fire. The inspector’s body was between me and it, so I hadn’t seen him drop it, but he must have done so. And then he ran. He was pursued and he was asked to stop and give himself up twice before they shot him. Having started firing, however, it was as if they couldn’t stop. Once he was down, at least five shots made sure that he would never get up again. Ernie, his hands over his ears, shivered with fright as I watched Sergeant Hill look straight ahead as if nothing was happening.

I couldn’t understand it. ‘He was a Nazi,’ I said. ‘He could’ve told you things!’

‘I think that Mr Lovett the humble cockle-fisher’ll be able to fill in quite a few gaps, Mr Hancock,’ Sergeant Hill replied.

‘You were listening . . .’

‘We were right behind the lot of you, all the way,’ he said. ‘Bent coppers don’t deserve to live, they—’ And then I saw his face crease as he pointed towards the fire and said, ‘Look!’

Beauty Lee had both hands in the flames. Her face, calm and cool as a cucumber, was gazing downwards as her hands grasped the Nail. It was almost as if the fire had suddenly, to her, taken on the character of cold water. And as she pulled the Nail out of the flames she appeared to be unhurt.

‘When the right person have it, Nail can’t do him or her no harm,’
drabalo
Mary said, in answer to my silent question. ‘Coppers best leave what ain’t theirs to those who’s meant to have it.’

Beauty Lee placed the bloody Nail in the pocket of her skirt, then returned to the arms of her sisters.

‘This is Inspector Berger from Scotland Yard,’ Sergeant Hill said, as he introduced a short, Jewish bloke in plainclothes to Ernie and myself.
Drabalo
Mary shoved a cup into the sergeant’s hand. ‘Ah, tea,’ he said. ‘Thank you, my dear.’

The old woman, who’d already given the rest of us drinks from her kettle, sat down with Ernie and me, then turned expectantly to Inspector Berger. The Scotland Yard man sat on the ground and said, ‘Richards’s original boss, a bloke called Brown, had been in with Mosley’s lot back in the thirties. He got his cards but we didn’t know for certain about Richards until he started getting involved with you, Mr Hancock.’

‘Me?’

The light from
drabalo
Mary’s fire threw his sharp features into deep shadow, making him black and red, devil-like – although I knew that what I was seeing was only frightening the Christian side of my brain. In India some of the devils have white faces, and features that are fat and bloated, rather than sharp. But at that moment Berger was every inch the terrifying fictional Jewish figure that Herr Hitler is so fond, it is said, of portraying.

‘Some months ago the Yard got intelligence that someone was in this country carrying a religious relic what Hitler wanted. The Führer’s keen on that sort of thing, so we had to look for it. But when we was told that this Martin Stojka was a Gypsy we had to think very hard about how we might find him.’

‘They do look out for their own, the Romany people,’ Sergeant Hill said, without thinking. Then, suddenly remembering where he was, and who he was with, he turned to Mary and said, ‘That being a good thing, of course.’

Mary grunted.

‘Every force in the country was looking for Martin Stojka,’ Berger continued.

‘The photograph I was shown of him was a bad likeness,’ I said.

‘Which didn’t help. But then suddenly along comes this Captain Mansard of the Military Police saying as how he’d seen Stojka up in Epping Forest. He hadn’t managed to catch him but he was convinced that he was being hidden there by fellow Gypsies. The MPs were already up in the forest searching for deserters so it was thought best, as I was told then, to let them carry on and find Stojka at the same time. I suppose Mansard must’ve seen him, although he never found him again until the night both he and Stojka died.’

‘I can tell you a bit about how that might have happened in a little while,’ I said, and glanced at Mary, who shrugged as if to say, ‘Tell him about the Head or not, it’s all the same to me.’ Once he was found, was Stojka to be interned or imprisoned?’

‘Neither,’ Berger replied. ‘For our part, the police told the public that Stojka was a German what needed to be interned. He was frightened, trusted no one. We just needed to get him in so we could ask him about Hitler, who, we’d heard, he had met. It was Mansard who called him a spy, so people’d help him find Stojka and what Stojka had. We were a bit perturbed when Sergeant Hill reported to the Yard what he’d heard Mansard was saying, but Inspector Richards, who was the contact between ourselves and the Military Police, wasn’t unduly worried so we let Mansard get on with it.’