A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (15 page)

Johnny Mangusco laughed and slapped the table hard.

"Good old Harry. And you say he's straightened a screw, that's good."

Devon looked puzzled.

"Straightened, you mean he's bent?"

Johnny smiled.

"No son, in the nick everyone's bent, so a screw on your team becomes straight, get it?"

Devon Jones smiled, enjoying the irony of the term. Then Johnny asked.

"You seem a good sort, tell me, what do you do?"

"I play guitar in a little club down Savile Row."

Johnny jumped to his feet.

"Musician, okay, you any good?"

"Course I am."

"Care to prove it?"

"Sure, name when and where?"

Johnny walked to the door and beckoned him to follow. Once out on the dance floor, Johnny walked through the dancing couples and over to the small stage where a jazz band was in full swing, as Johnny waved them to silence, the music stopped abruptly. The people in mid-dance came to a standstill on the floor. Mangusco waved Devon toward the stage and taking his cue, Jones made his way up to join the others. Johnny addressed the crowd on the dance floor.

"We're having a bit of an audition, so just settle down, sorry folks, music'll be back in a minute. Jim lend him your guitar. Mr Jones make me happy."

With this Johnny clapped his hands and waited. Jenny shook her head and smiled. The band members had a brief discussion and then began to play. Jenny's face lit up as the opening bars of Stardust came through the speakers. Devon played an intro which not only offered warmth and depth but was a glowing jazz version more in line with Hoagy Carmichael's original composition. Johnny smiled and took Jenny into his arms, as the song took hold. By the end of the number, it wasn't just the crowd who were applauding, but the other band members as well. Devon smiled and thanking the guitarist for the loan of his instrument, hopped down from the stage and joined Johnny and Jenny once more. Mangusco slapped him on the back.

"You were right, you are good. I like you, my girl likes you and even the band likes you. You want a job?"

"Sure, but what about him?"

Devon pointed to the guitarist on the stage. Johnny smiled.

"Don't worry about him, he can play at my other club, I've only got a pianist and a songbird there, it needs a decent band. As for you I'm not offering you a spot in the band, I'm offering you the band."

"I'm not a band leader, just a sideman."

Johnny smiled and winked at Jenny.

"So you've not got any decent ideas, well never mind, my mistake."

Jones raised his hands to stop Johnny.

"Ideas, sure I've got plenty, but who ever heard of a band leader who's a guitarist?"

Johnny grinned at him.

"My Dear Mr Jones, I believe it all started at a club called The White Cat. Go on you can bring us some luck, be our own Snake Hips."

"Mr Mangusco how can I refuse such an offer, but I must tell you that my hips ain't that swervy and unlike old Ken I can play. Mind you he can sure move".

They laughed and Johnny spoke again to Devon.

"And tonight you made my lady happy and it's been a while since I've seen her smile like that. If the band needs anything let me know, all I ask is that you get them all to sound like they did tonight."

Jenny joined in.

"Yes Mr Jones please play more like Stardust, that was beautiful. And it's lovely to know that Harry has such a talented friend. I'm going to enjoy dancing again."

Johnny left Jenny talking to Devon and went to speak to the band. Whatever was said, Jones could see that the guitarist was smiling and nodding, so all was well. During the next few days, Devon had the task of getting all that Harry had asked for. He was now part of Johnny's team and despite his earlier misgivings, the guitarist felt good about the way things had worked out. Johnny Mangusco had spoken to him at length and told him under normal circumstances his work would only involve music and the band. However, as he was Harry's friend, he thought it better that Devon would be the one to sort things out for Royle.

Johnny had given him plenty of money to get the job done and an impressive list of contacts. He had also offered him accommodation, a room above the club, so he'd be closer to things.

Robert Preston realised that he had done too many things, taken too many chances, broken too many rules and he knew that his career, as well as his future liberty, were now in jeopardy. He knew that he no longer had any choice. He had to see things through to the end or else run himself. He had 15 years service and an unblemished record, now his entire future could be ruined and all because of an act of kindness, a moment of weakness. The man knew that no matter how the end played out, it would soon be over. He reasoned with himself that perhaps Royle should be released and so in helping he was doing the right thing, but he knew that however he looked at it, he was breaking the law.

Preston decided to put that very question to his priest after the following Sunday's service. The older man had looked at him and listened without making a single comment. The prison officer related all the recent events, as the two men sat opposite one another in the little room at the back of the church. Father Lucian McKendry had known Robert Preston his whole life. In fact, it had been Father McKendry who had attended at the milestone moments of his life. The old man was wise in the sense of observing the world, as well as being a part of it. He had joined the priesthood after a youth filled with anger, pain and violence. McKendry had been a soldier in the Irish Republican Army and had proudly served his country. The turning point in his life came after a fierce street battle with twenty British soldiers and a dozen of his own comrades. That day he had watched men die from both sides and he hadn't felt pride, only pain. He had managed to escape from the street scene of carnage, where his childhood friends lay bleeding to death, matched by dying British soldiers.

He had hidden in a cousin's house for two weeks, but somehow his name had not made it to the files and he returned home a free, but broken young man mourning the loss of true friends. His family thought he was finished, as weeks turned into months. And then one day in church, it had happened. It wasn't a vision, or a disembodied voice, just a feeling of peace, one of total bliss. It came about the day he had lit candles for the fallen who had died that day. He had lit candles for his friends and then without hesitation had put pennies in for the British as well. Seeing the freshly lit flames bouncing so full of life, just like the candles of his comrades, struck him and he had fallen to his knees and wept, tears spilling down his cheeks. An old priest, Father O'Connor, a man old then, and long since dead, had come over to him and kneeling beside him, had told McKendry that he knew the sign was one of a true Damascene moment. The rest had been history.

He had found redemption in the priesthood. His vocation had taken him to England and in time to Manchester, where he had become Preston's parish priest. His politics had remained the same, but these days he tried not to judge men by their actions, preferring to allow God to do his own work. As Preston came to the end of his story, the old man smiled a gentle smile.

"Robert I have known you your whole life, I married your parents, God bless them both and I know you better than any other man alive. You are a good soul and your heart is a strong and true one, why you could almost be Irish."

Preston smiled, as he continued to listen, his head lowered and his hands clasped in his lap. The old man continued.

"I have of course read of this man Royle in the papers and must admit to feeling conflicting emotions, as his story has come to light. He has been much wronged, his words and deeds twisted, used and abused. Abused, as indeed was our Lord. Don't look so shocked Robert, it is not blasphemy to understand suffering, it is compassion. There is real evil in this world, take Hitler and his hoards. This man Harry Royle has been an innocent pawn. Yes, he had a moment of weakness and stole. Did you not have your own backside tanned by me for taking a shilling from the collection all those years ago? Was your theft better? Perhaps, my son, this is God's work you're doing. You had time to go and report these things. You did not. You could have walked away, you did not. You could have betrayed him and you did not. The man Barker I see as a Roman. Look into your heart Robert and do what you think He wants you to do".

The old man raised Preston's face with his fingers and looked into his eyes. Preston, Shocked, said.

"But Father isn't it a sinful thing to help a criminal?"

"Man's laws are not God's laws. Had our Lord done as Roman law wanted, his life would have been saved and the cross of our redemption lost to Satan. No, the right way is not always the easy way and sometimes we reach a point and must stand up and be counted. And this not always in a loud heroic way. You have the chance to be merciful. Who are we to judge what our Lord has in store for this man. The greater crime might be to deny him true justice. Who are we to judge Robert? "

With this the old priest stood and walking over to a desk in the corner, opened a drawer and took something out. He walked back over to Preston and placed the object into his hand. As Robert Preston looked at it, the old man spoke again.

"I give you the cross of Saint Peter, the cross of humility. Let this symbol give you strength for the task ahead my son."

Robert Preston stared at the upside down cross in his hand and knew from Sunday school lessons, its story and truth for all those of his faith. When he had parted from the old man, his heart was lighter and he now felt he had a new strength of purpose and an even stronger faith, both in his beliefs and also in his own feelings and heart. When Devon Jones next called he knew he would be able to offer his everything, his all in service to this most worthy cause.

Robert Preston returned to work on the following Monday morning not simply as another worker, but to his mind, as a man on a mission. He had even thought of a plan of his own during the Sunday evening. Royle had told him his own plan involving being smuggled out either via the dustbin truck or laundry service and Preston hadn't liked either of them, but his plan would work and be clean and tidy, hopefully leaving no loose ends. That evening he had set to work on his second best pair of shoes. Using some hobby tools, he had opened up one of the heels and constructed a small compartment inside. He placed a small tin filled with beeswax and a small piece of file inside. The next day he slipped the box to Royle, during a supposed cell search.

Royle's job was in the prison phone-shop, working with old telephones, recovering various components from the otherwise scrap machines. Over the course of two weeks, he had been able to fashion two basic keys from scavenged metal parts. He had studied the keys in question day after day as they hung on a ring at the warder's side. With wax impressions made from Preston's keys, His first blank was ready to begin. Alone in his cell and with Preston on the look-out, he began. Taking a burning match, he blackened the metal surface of his would be key and hid it up his sleeve. He knew it would never work concealing it like that for long and it wouldn't stand up to a search, but he needed to keep it hidden just for a few moments. Walking out with his accomplice blocking him from view, Royle stood with his back to the door.

He slowly tried the metal blank in the lock and turned it gently. He then removed it and hiding it in his folded collar, managed to get it back to his cell. That evening he took out the blank and could clearly see where the soot had been scratched away, it was in these places on the blank that Harry would work away with the small piece of file.

That night he set to work. Slowly, carefully and very quietly, he worked the file against the metal. The work took three nights and the key was at last ready. Waiting for the perfect moment to test it, he backed up to the door and pushed his new key home. With a click, he felt the lock give.

Quickly he closed it again, as quietly as he could. Placing it back beneath his collar, in the guise of a good stretch and yawn. Royle knew that Preston was watching over him, but this was no guarantee of success. If any other warder wanted him searched, that would be that and Preston would have to play a part in exposing Harry's escape plan. The process was repeated and in just under a week, Harry had two keys, cut and ready. Robert Preston had insisted on smuggling the keys out himself so he could keep them safe.

Chapter 9

March 1940

Harry Royle had found the change in Preston's attitude more than a little worrying. He had liked the man well enough and had the circumstances been different, knew that they could have been good friends, but they stood on different sides of the law. All of a sudden, Preston had seemed happy about his situation, something which Harry found very odd. Royle had dealt the man a bad hand and expected the warder to hate him for it, but the other man's recent attitude seemed, to Harry's mind, to be completely opposite. He wondered if perhaps Preston had his own plan, and would that plan lead him straight to solitary. Harry had no way of knowing and had no choice but to carry on and hope things worked out.

That night as he lay in his cell thinking, he heard a click and the door was unlocked. Robert Preston stepped into the cell and having glanced behind him, pulled the door closed and crossed to Royle's chair, where he sat down. Harry sat up and was about to speak when the officer raised his hand in a signal to silence Royle, he then spoke himself.