East End Trouble (21 page)

M
ary Diamond bounced
little Jimmy on her knee. He’d been tetchy all evening, and now he was getting hungry, the poor little mite.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. Mummy will be home soon,” she said and carried the baby into the kitchen.

She’d bought a nice bit of fish for supper tonight, which would make a change from the cheap potato stew she’d been serving up the past few nights.

Mary had to admit, although she didn’t like the man, the money Martin had given Kathleen this week had certainly helped. The small amount Mary earned from the stall didn’t touch the sides, and with Kathleen out of work and a new baby to take care of, they needed every penny they could get.

Mary had already chopped up all the vegetables, and she now transferred them to a saucepan, holding baby Jimmy tightly in her other arm.

Holding him was the only way to get him to stop crying. He was a very demanding baby, and he needed to be held and occupied at all times.

Mary returned to the front room and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Kathleen should have been home ages ago. Jimmy was hungry, and Mary’s stomach was starting to think her throat had been cut. She was really looking forward to this bit of fish. She planned to pan fry it, and it wasn’t something you could cook in advance and keep warm or reheat without spoiling. So she’d have to wait for Kathleen to get back.

As the minutes ticked past and turned into another hour, Mary started to get really angry. Surely Kathleen wouldn’t just have gone off. She knew Jimmy would need feeding. She’d promised her mother she’d only be two hours at the shops, at the most.

Mary carried Jimmy over to the window and peered out at the dark street.

Mary had lived in the same house for years, and despite the comings and goings of different gangsters and petty criminals, she’d always felt safe there, so she couldn’t explain the reason why she suddenly felt a cold shiver of dread pass through her body.

Mary didn’t believe in mother’s intuition or any of that other mumbo-jumbo. All she knew was that she was scared out of her wits.

Why hadn’t Kathleen come home?

Kathleen was now a full two hours late. Something must have happened. Mary wrapped little Jimmy up in a blanket. She didn’t bother putting him in his pram as she was only going to walk up the road. As she stepped out onto the street and shivered, she hugged little Jimmy tightly to her. His dark blue eyes were bright and watchful as they looked up into her face.

Mary quickly walked along the street and then turned left. Maybe she was just being silly, but it was driving her mad, sitting at home waiting. When she reached the Simpsons’ front door, she hesitated then knocked three times.

The door was opened by Mrs. Simpson, Linda’s mother. Mary had never really got along with the Simpsons. The whole family, apart from Linda, acted as if they considered themselves a class above the likes of the Diamonds.

But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Mary needed help.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Mary said. “Kathleen hasn’t come home, and I’m a bit worried. I wondered whether Linda had seen her.”

Mrs. Simpson cast her disapproving eyes onto baby Jimmy in Mary’s arms, but then she stood aside. “You’d better come in.”

To Mary’s embarrassment, when Mrs. Simpson showed her inside, she saw that the family were all sitting down to dinner.

Mortified, she turned again to apologise to Mrs. Simpson and then quickly asked Linda whether she’d seen Kathleen. “She hasn’t come home, and I’m worried. She’s a good girl usually and gets home on time.”

Linda’s brother snorted at that. “A good girl?” He spluttered with laughter.

Mary’s temper flared. “I’m well aware that Kathleen is not perfect, but she would not let little Jimmy go hungry.” She shifted the baby in her arms, and even as she said the words, she wondered if she was making a fool of herself.

As much as she loved her daughter, she knew that Kathleen was inherently selfish. She’d never left Jimmy like this before, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a first time. If Kathleen came with her tail between her legs later, Mary would personally throttle the girl.

She felt Mrs. Simpson’s hand on her arm. “I understand,” she said. “It’s a mother’s instinct to worry.”

Linda piped up, “She wouldn’t have left Jimmy, Mum.”

Mary felt the hope that she’d held onto evaporate. “So you haven’t seen her, Linda?”

“I saw her earlier after I left work. I was walking home. She didn’t see me, but I saw her get into a big black car at the end of the street.”

Mary thought she might be sick. Who on earth did Kathleen know who owned a car? But as she asked herself the question, she realised the answer: Martin Morton.

He better not have harmed her. Mary didn’t trust the man as far she could throw him.

“Was it Martin’s car?” she asked Linda urgently.

Linda shook her head. “I’m sorry it was dark, and I couldn’t see who was driving. I didn’t recognise the car either.”

Mary nodded and to her horror, she felt tears prickle in her eyes.

She turned away, burying her head in little Jimmy’s blankets. She would not cry in front of the Simpsons.

How had this all gone so wrong? She hadn’t had it easy bringing up Kathleen alone, but she thought she’d done a good job in the circumstances. Deep down, she knew Kathleen wasn’t a bad girl.

Mrs. Simpson’s voice was cool and calm as she took charge of the situation. “I don’t like the sound of this, at all. I think we should notify the police.”

“Oh, no!” Mary Diamond didn’t have the same abhorrence of the police as some of the people in the area did, but she didn’t want to get the police involved and then be humiliated when Kathleen turned up a few hours later.

She couldn’t help hoping that the girl was going to come home of her own accord, and laugh it off. Knowing Kathleen, it was possible she’d been caught up having a good time and completely forgotten about the baby.

Mrs. Simpson shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Diamond. But I really must insist. If Kathleen got into a car with a man we don’t know, and we delay in calling the police…” She shook her head, leaving the rest of her words unsaid.

Mary nodded her head sadly. She was right. They would have to call the police. Mary couldn’t take the chance.

“Right,” Mrs. Simpson said, turning to her daughter. “Linda, you go back to Mrs. Diamond’s house and make sure she’s okay. Somebody needs to be there in case Kathleen comes home. Christopher and Alfred will go out looking for Kathleen in the local area, and I will go around to Mrs. Wright’s. I think she’s been feeding her baby formula, and that will tide little Jimmy over until we find Kathleen.”

Mary was ever so thankful that Mrs. Simpson seemed so confident. “I’m sure I’m making a fuss over nothing, but I do appreciate your help.”

Mrs. Simpson smiled kindly and patted her on the arm, but she stopped short of telling Mary everything would be all right.

L
inda escorted
a tearful Mary and little Jimmy back to their house.

Mary sat at the kitchen table, and Linda had just started heating a saucepan full of milk ready to make some cocoa when there was a knock at the front door.

Linda turned to Mrs. Diamond with a smile. “That will be my dad. I bet they’ve found Kathleen already.”

She wiped her hands and headed out for the front door. “I’ll get it.”

Mary stayed sitting at the table. She’d fed Jimmy the formula, and afterwards, he’d fallen fast asleep as if all the excitement this evening had been too much for him.

When Linda opened the door, she was surprised to see it wasn’t her father. She was confronted by a very tall policeman who removed his hat. “Mrs. Mary Diamond?”

Linda was too shocked to say anything, so she simply nodded and gestured for the policeman to come inside.

From her seat at the kitchen table, Mary turned around and craned her neck, so she could see who was at the door.

“Send him through, Linda,” she said. “I’m sure they just want to take some details about Kathleen’s disappearance.”

Linda ushered the policeman through to the kitchen.

“May I sit down?” the policeman asked.

Mary nodded, and the policeman pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. Linda hovered beside them, wringing her hands nervously.

“I know you want more information, officer. But the truth is, I don’t know anything other than what Mrs. Simpson would have told you already. Kathleen went out, but she should have been back to feed the baby over three hours ago. I’ve no idea where she is. Linda saw her getting in a black car at the end of the street at about half past five. There’s not much else I can tell you.”

The policeman was starting to look extremely uncomfortable. He couldn’t get a word in edgeways with all Mary’s chatter.

Linda took a step forward and put a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Maybe the policeman can tell us something, Mrs. Diamond.”

Mary nodded and smiled. “Sorry, I’m babbling on. I’m just ever so worried about her, you know? Would you like a drink? We were just about to have some cocoa?”

The policeman shook his head and then cleared his throat nervously. “I’m ever so sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Diamond…”

Mary let out a little gasp, and Linda’s shaking arms wrapped around her shoulders as they braced themselves for what the policeman was about to say next.

“We have found a body of a girl who has been strangled and dumped into the canal. We believe it’s your daughter, Mrs. Diamond.”

B
ig Tim was struggling
. He’d taken himself off to the Blind Beggar in Whitechapel. He usually drank at Martin’s club because he liked to be around faces he knew, but today he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

The regular crowd at the Blind Beggar looked up, surprised to see him as he walked in, but Tim kept his eyes straight ahead, not wanting to attract conversation. Molly, one of the regular barmaids, was soon in front of him.

“We don’t often see you in here these days,” she said, giving him a flirtatious wink.

Tim didn’t engage. Usually, he liked the attention he got from being part of Martin’s gang, but today he just wanted to be left alone, to dwell on the awful act he had committed.

Tim ordered a pint of beer and a whisky chaser. He was planning to get blind drunk, and hoped to God when he woke up tomorrow morning, he was feeling a little better. Or at least, he hoped he’d find a way to live with this awful guilt.

Tim was on his third pint when he overheard some geezer at the bar talking loudly about Dave Carter.

Tim had made it his business over the years to know everybody related to the Carter gang, at least, the ones who were openly affiliated with him.

The man talking was Terry Pulchetti, the son of Italian immigrants who’d moved to the East End twenty years ago.

He was a flamboyant character and very passionate. As he talked, he was gesturing with his hands. Clearly, he was quite a fan of Dave Carter and hadn’t noticed that Tim, one of Martin Morton’s henchmen, was sitting quietly at a table in the corner.

The people Terry was talking to had noticed Tim’s presence, though. They were exchanging nervous glances and looking over at Tim. But the Italian was having far too much fun being the centre of attention to pay heed to any of their warnings.

“He has a nobility,” the Italian said. “How anyone can get through the loss of a daughter like that and then come back the way he has.” He shook his head and then took a deep breath as if he was getting emotional. “It’s not like it was in the old days. Dave Carter is the only one left. He is a man you can trust, a man with principles.” The man raised his drink in the air and said in a booming voice, “To Dave Carter, may he find strength in this difficult time.”

A few people raise their drinks, but most of them had their eyes fixed on Tim, looking terrified. They needn’t have worried. Tim was in no mood to defend Martin Morton tonight.

If he were honest, Tim had always had a sneaking admiration for Dave Carter. He knew lots of people laughed at his background, coming from a family of greengrocers like he did. But Tim couldn’t see anything wrong in that. Dave Carter was a hard-working, fair man. Like any man with that amount of power, he had a ruthless streak, but Tim doubted Dave Carter would have given the order to kill the mother of one of his children.

As far as Tim knew, Dave Carter didn’t even play around on the side.

If Martin Morton had been an intelligent man, he would have begun organising his operation to take advantage of Dave Carter right now when he was most vulnerable. That, in Tim’s opinion, wouldn’t have been despicable. It was purely business.

It was difficult to know where to draw the line. All Tim knew was that he had crossed his own particular moral line tonight, and he wasn’t sure he would ever get over that. He looked up and sighed when he saw the swaggering Italian walking over to him.

“My apologies, Tim. I didn’t see you there. I meant no disrespect.”

The Italian wasn’t talking so loudly now. He wasn’t broadcasting his apology to the rest of the pub. He was talking fast and nervously licking his lips between each word.

What was the point in any of this? Tim just couldn’t be bothered with it.

He stood up and picked up his coat. “Get out of my way,” he growled and pushed through the crowd of people in the pub to get to the exit.

T
he following morning
in Pentonville Prison, Charlie Williams carried his tray away from the serving counter and stared down at his breakfast. Weak tea and lumpy porridge. Prison food was bloody awful. He could kill for one of his mum’s full English breakfasts right now.

He walked forward, weaving between the rows of men sitting at the benches. Most of them were already full. There were a few spare seats scattered about, but he had to be ever so careful about who he picked to sit next to. It was all political. You chose your mates from the start and stuck with them.

Charlie had fallen in with a couple of young men around his age. They weren’t bad lads, and it always helped to have someone to watch your back in prison. As he searched the room for his mates, his gaze fell on a nasty weasel-faced man, called Alfie Harris.

Alfie didn’t really hold much sway in prison. He was a South Londoner, and a good ten years older than Charlie, but he had a vindictive streak a mile long. He was the kind of man who enjoyed suffering. And he would play horrible practical jokes on other inmates just to get a sick kick out of it.

Charlie had determined from day one to avoid him. That was the best way to handle prison, keep your head down and not upset anybody.

But from the way Alfie Harris’s eyes were fixed on him, it looked like Charlie Williams’s luck had just run out.

Charlie carried on walking and pretended not to notice. Maybe if he didn’t give the sadistic sod any attention, he’d grow bored. But as he went to pass Alfie, he tripped and went flying.

His tray clattered to the floor, porridge splattering up, covering his face and hair, and his tea burned his hands. For a moment, he lay there, dazed, as a great roar went up from his fellow prisoners, who were laughing and pointing.

Charlie rolled onto his side and then pushed himself up to his feet. It was then that he saw Alfie Harris’s leg pushed out and crossing his path.

He had tripped Charlie deliberately.

Charlie felt his blood boiling in his veins and clenched his fists at his sides. He would have absolutely loved to wipe the smirk off that bastard’s face. But Alfie was surrounded with a crowd of his cronies, and Charlie was wise enough to know he couldn’t take them all on.

“Oh, dear,” Alfie said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Charlie Williams, ain’t it? Don’t you work for the great Dave Carter?”

Charlie didn’t reply. He just stared back stonily at him.

“Well, you really should be more careful.” Alfie got to his feet, pushed his finished breakfast tray away from him and shoved his face close to Charlie’s. “Prison can be a very dangerous place.”

“Is that a threat?” Charlie asked, making sure he kept a broad grin on his face so Alfie knew exactly what he thought of his threats.

“No, son,” Alfie Harris chuckled. “It’s just a friendly warning. Watch your back. And stay out of my way.”

That was exactly what Charlie had been trying to do, but obviously, he hadn’t quite managed it.

Charlie bent down to pick up his spilled breakfast tray, and a prison guard wandered over. He took his bleeding time, Charlie thought.

“Clean up this mess, Williams,” the prison guard ordered, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his trousers.”

That was what he was trying to do. Charlie shook his head, but he knew better than to complain about his treatment. He picked up pieces of the broken bowl and lumps of soggy porridge with his fingers.

“Do you think I could have a cloth or something?”

The prison guard stared down at Charlie with indignation. “What do you think I am? Your bleeding maid? You can get yourself down to the kitchen and ask for one. Get a mop and bucket while you’re at it. Perhaps after mopping the cafeteria floor you’ll be a little more careful in future.”

To catcalls and cries from the other prisoners, Charlie stomped off towards the kitchen. It was just another day in the wonderful world of prison.

By the time Charlie finished mopping the floor, everyone else had gone.

He put the mop and bucket away in the cupboard in the kitchen and then headed out. He was missing exercise time in the yard over this, and he was desperate for a ciggie. He intended to make a quick detour and go back to his cell to pick up his baccy before going outside. Unfortunately, Alfie Harris and his cronies had predicted Charlie’s route.

Charlie sighed when he saw them.

“Really? You haven’t had enough for one day?” Charlie said, shaking his head.

Alfie Harris put his ugly, red face right up to Charlie’s.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough, Williams. We’ve heard you’re the big man. So why don’t you prove it, eh? Come on, I’ll give you first punch,” Alfie said.

Charlie laughed. “You’ve got to be joking. Do I look stupid? As soon as I land a punch, you and all your mates will pile on. It’s hardly going to be a fair fight, is it?”

For his cheek, Charlie got a shove from behind. Although he was itching to land one right on Alfie Harris’s nose, he managed to keep both his arms at his sides.

“Come on, I just wanted a cigarette. I don’t want any trouble, Alfie.”

But Alfie Harris clearly wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. He delivered an open-handed smack to the side of Charlie’s face.

That was the trigger. It was a fight that Charlie couldn’t hope to win, but he couldn’t take disrespect like that. He launched himself at Alfie, delivering an uppercut to the jaw and one hard punch to Alfie’s soft belly before the other men pulled him off.

As Charlie predicted, they all piled on. He was punched and kicked until his whole body felt bruised. Alfie screamed insults at him the whole time.

When they’d finally decided he’d had enough, Charlie was sprawled out on the floor with blood pouring out of a cut on his head and another at the side of his mouth.

He spat the blood on the floor. “Is that all you’ve got?” Charlie murmured weakly before he passed out.