Noose (10 page)

‘A kid of your age shouldn't have a helmet. They're not for kids. Helmets are not toys.'

‘It was important. I had to come. He might run. Or go for someone else with the knife. My mother and brother are still there, and Clifford Hill. Clifford couldn't come because there was only one helmet and he's already a bit scared from being by himself in their house at first. His parents went to see
Down Argentine Way.
It upset him to be on his own in their house.'

‘Went to sea down Argentine way? Didn't our boys make the German pocket battleship
Graf Spee
scupper herself in that area? We had three ships there, smaller than the
Graf Spee
, but they did the job. This would be HMS
Exeter
, HMS
Achilles
, HMS
Ajax
. South America? That's a distance. And they left the boy at home?'

‘He had already seen it.'

‘What?'

‘
Down Argentine Way.
In the Bug and Scratch.'

‘Right,' the policeman said. ‘I think that's all we'll find here.' He put his helmet on. They went back through the lane. The man was still sitting on the bench with the knife in his hand near the other man on the floor. The policeman crouched and looked at the body. ‘You did it?' he said to the man on the bench.

The man held out the knife in one hand. Yes, blood, as Clifford said. The policeman took a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the knife before putting it on the bench. ‘Evidence,' he said. ‘Did you see what happened?' he asked Ian.

‘Yes. That one on the floor turned his back and—'

‘All right,' the policeman said. He brought out handcuffs and fixed them on the wrists of the man sitting on the bench. The man let him. He did not fight or struggle or anything like that. The policeman said he would go back to Larch Street to tell the sergeant he had to take this man and Ian to the police station. ‘You're a witness, although you're young.'

This was definitely true. ‘Yes,' Ian said.

‘We were all witnesses,' Mr Bell said.

‘Yes, but this boy came to fetch me,' the policeman said.

‘I had to stay to protect my wife and the rest,' Mr Bell said. ‘This was a matter of sharing risk.'

The policeman said to Ian: ‘You and the suspect can both wait outside now. The raid's over. It's calm. We mustn't have this fellow frightening the other folk. I don't think he'll run. He's not the sort. Anyway, in cuffs he'd look like a looter of bombed houses who's escaped and people would really go after him. They've heard of looters. They're not at all fond of looters.'

Ian and the man stood near the words about not being slaves that Ian had written in the cement. The fires in Larch Street were still high enough to light up the message. ‘What money?' Ian asked the man.

‘Yes, money. It's always about money, isn't it?'

‘What is?' Ian said.

‘Trouble. Conflict. He found the money in our mother's house when she died. All the money. Behind volumes on the book shelves. That was just like our mother. She wouldn't use banks. She had read about banks going bust in America in 1929. She didn't trust them. Do you know what I mean when I say “going bust”? Collapsing through debt.'

‘I was born in 1929,' Ian replied. ‘I didn't realize about the banks, though.'

‘He knew it – the money store. She was a widow. No will. I believe she didn't make a will because she thought we'd agree to take half each. It would seem natural to her. That money's an inheritance, for dividing, isn't it? This was quite a few years ago. I've only just found him.'

Ian would have guessed from the way he talked that this man's mother was the kind to have volumes and book shelves. Not just for hiding money but for reading and referring to, such as history or
The Practical Home Doctor
, which Ian's parents had at home for splinters or ingrown toe nails. Most likely the man's mother didn't have a maid, though, because she would find the money behind the volumes when she was cleaning and you couldn't tell what she would do then, such as take some of it. But, of course, the maid might be a very honest maid and would dust around the money without pinching any of it.

‘But I shouldn't be telling you all this – a kid in a helmet,' the man said. He had a square face with a tiny dark moustache, a bit like Adolf's. You'd think men would shave off that kind of moustache now in the war, or let it grow bigger. He had on the dark coat and most probably good shoes, a white shirt and a tie with silver stripes on red.

‘I was the one Mr Bell picked to go. And his wife. We'll get fish and chips later, if there's still time to light up. If not we can go there tomorrow, I expect, including Clifford Hill, because he was with us, and it would not be fair to make him do without, even though he didn't go to Larch Street for the policeman.'

‘Even so,' the man said.

‘Is he your brother?' Ian asked.

‘He took it all. Spent it all. Or he
said
he'd spent it all. That might be just to stop me getting at any of it. You can't tell me that's fair.'

‘No, not fair, but stabbing somebody to death is quite serious.'

‘The hate came over me.'

‘Why didn't you run while I was away fetching the copper?' Ian replied. ‘Nobody could have stopped you. They wouldn't have tried, even. They wanted to get rid of you. They'd have been glad. They're all afraid. We're not used to this sort of thing, a raid and then a murder. The two together upset people.'

‘Oh, I don't know. Where would I run
to
? What did the constable say – I'm not the sort?'

‘You mean you'd be like Cain, after he killed Abel? Fleeing but nowhere to hide?'

‘You go to Sunday school, do you?'

‘My father needs a sleep in the armchair on Sunday afternoons. I'd say he deserves it, because he's out dredging sand for most of the week. He thought I'd better go to Sunday school so the house was quiet for a while. I got a bit fed up with it, though.' He didn't mention using the collection money for sweets.

‘It's quite important to have a father, to help keep the family together.'

‘Yes, I know. My father thought we could all get under the kitchen table in a raid, but my mother wanted company, I think. The table had fat legs with curls of wood on them, but they might not have been able to stand it if the house was hit.'

‘This part of the city's been targeted, I think.'

‘Near the docks and the ammo works,' Ian replied. ‘I don't think you live around here.'

‘Used to when I was young. Quite often, I come on the tram to see a lady friend. It could be a wedding matter soon. I'll propose.' He laughed and went down on one knee alongside the concrete, his wrists handcuffed together in front of him. It was a kind of joke. He seemed very jolly although he'd just killed his own brother. And had handcuffs on. ‘Or I would have – if this hadn't happened. She's a nurse.' He stood properly again. ‘But tonight the raid starts before I reach where she lives and I have to get into the shelter here. And whom do I run into? My brother. Luck. Good? Bad?'

Ian thought he was the kind of man who'd say ‘whom' like that. ‘Known as a coincidence,' Ian said.

‘When my brother scooped the money he disappeared. He knew I'd be looking for him. He must have taken a place around here to hide. It's not the kind of district I'd expect him to be in these days – especially when he had that money. I always bring the clasp knife when I come this way to see the lady. Protection.' He frowned and paused. ‘Oh, look, sorry, you live here, don't you? I just meant that if I …'

‘It was an accident we were in the shelter, too,' Ian replied. ‘Not enough room under the table when Clifford came from next door. I expect if my father had been at home he would have made us all stay under the table, never mind how crowded it was because of Clifford. Yes, fat legs looking strong, but only wood. It was completely my father's idea – the table. I'd say he's not always very clever. There are often problems in families, aren't there? If the house fell down that table wouldn't be any use. Rubble, bricks – they could smash a table regardless of thick legs. I'm glad we came to this shelter because I saw in Larch Street how a house could just tumble – even a mansion – so much really heavy stuff. Why do you see a lady here if you don't like this part of town any longer?'

‘She's still the one I want.'

‘What will happen to her now?'

‘That's a problem, yes.' He stared at Ian. ‘Look, would you take her a note for me? She'd most likely give you half a crown.'

‘Have you got a pencil and some paper?' Ian said.

‘In the inside pocket of my jacket. A notebook and fountain pen.' He couldn't reach there himself, because of the handcuffs.

‘Shall I look?' Ian said.

‘You'll have to, and write it.'

Ian put his hand under the two layers of clothes, the overcoat and the jacket and tried to search. He could feel the man's fast heartbeat. But the policeman, pushing a bike and with his helmet on, came back just then.

‘What's happening?' he said.

‘He wants me to let somebody know what's gone wrong.'

‘Let who know?' the policeman said.

‘It's a friend. A lady,' Ian said.

‘You'd better leave it,' the policeman said. ‘You're interfering with an accused. He'll have to be searched, in a proper fashion, according to regulations. I don't want you going through his pockets. You've been helpful. Don't spoil it. I still think it's wrong of you to have a helmet, but we'll forget that. But going through his pockets is a different matter. Very.' He leaned his bicycle against the wall under ‘Britons never shall be slaves' and went into the shelter for the wrapped knife. He came out and put it into his saddle bag. Ian gave Mr Bell's helmet back. Ian, the policeman and the prisoner began to make for the police station, the policeman pushing his bike. They had to go back through Larch Street on their way. People were out on the pavements now, looking at the damage, watching the firemen. The frozen water had spread out into the middle of the street. It was difficult to walk. The sharp smell of burning irritated Ian's nostrils like scorched dust. When one group spotted the policeman and Ian with a man in handcuffs they began to shout and shake their fists and spit. One of the women screamed that he must be a dirty looter like she'd read about in the London blitz, and a good job the police had him. ‘No, you're wrong, he only murdered his brother for the money,' Ian shouted. ‘It was behind volumes, but his brother had an idea he'd find it there because banks collapsed.'

At the police station, the officer told an inspector what had happened in the shelter and in Larch Street. The inspector took a writing pad and said a knifing was still a knifing, on a blitz night or any other. ‘This boy can give a witness statement, can he? Then we'll make charges.' He asked Ian his name and address and began to write down details.

That was it: ‘charges'. This meant he would have to say in court what he had seen. Although Clifford had been the first to spot the knife, Ian thought he would be the one they'd want to say what happened, because he'd been around to Larch Street as well as in the shelter, and he'd talked with the man who'd be charged. He wanted to ask the man for the name and address of the lady so she wouldn't be left wondering where he was, but they'd taken him to another room to answer questions.

When Ian went home after the police station, his father was there. The train from Newport had stopped a long way from Cardiff station because of the raid and he'd had to wait in it, as Ian's mother guessed. His mother had told him what happened, and Mr Charteris was ratty because they hadn't stayed under the kitchen table, which was his special idea for taking cover when the bombs came. ‘Why did you have to go to the street shelter?' he asked Ian's mother. ‘We don't have to rely on something for the general public. We have our own way of handling things. Now look at the result. The family's involved in a dirty murder. I spend great efforts keeping our reputation on top, but you wouldn't stay under the table.'

‘The one with the knife said he was only visiting. He'd come to see a lady,' Ian replied.

‘Yes, I expect he had. I know their sort,' his father said.

‘I'm sure you do,' his mother said.

‘He has considered a wedding. Their mother had volumes and book shelves,' Ian said.

‘Anyway, we're not
involved
,' Ian's mother said. ‘We saw it, that's all.'

‘It sounds like involved to me,' his father said. ‘Our boy at the police station so late. At a police station in the middle of the night! What sort of family has one of their children at a police station in the middle of the night? And instead he could have been at home here decently under the kitchen table. There'll be statements. I've heard of that sort of thing.'

‘Mr and Mrs Bell are going to open the shop and we can have free fish and chips,' Ian said. ‘Clifford too. I had Mr Bell's helmet.'

‘Don't talk to me about fish and chips,' his father said. ‘This is a bigger situation than that. It stands to reason that things would have been completely different if you'd stayed under the table.'

‘Not completely different,' his mother said. ‘There'd still have been the trouble in the shelter.'

‘Completely different for
us
,' his father said. ‘For
us.
It was because I knew rows about money and a knifing might occur in a public shelter that I told you to go under the table at home in a raid.
We
don't need free fish and chips. We provide for ourselves, thank you very much. Are we going to be beholden to someone who runs a fish and chip shop, not just for free fish and chips but because our son wore his helmet?'