The Street (20 page)

‘Nah . . . just scratches. Sting more’n anything.’

‘I don’t want you to go . . . you don’t have to go,’ Alice burst out with quiet passion.

‘I do . . . you know I do, Al.’ Geoff blinked to clear the moisture that had sprung to his eyes. ‘I can’t get locked up . . . or worse. I could swing for it if a jury saw it different to how it was.’ He sniffed. ‘I’d sooner take me chances in France, and if it’s me turn to die . . .’ He smiled down at her. ‘At least it’d be for something worthwhile. At least me mum could feel proud instead of ashamed. Jimmy Wild ain’t worth dying for.’

‘Has your mum gone mad over you leaving?’ Alice croaked through a throat that felt blocked with tears.

‘Just a bit,’ he said ruefully. It was his way of letting Alice know there’d been ructions in the Lovat household. His expression grew sober. ‘They know I mean it. That’s all I want them to know.’ He slanted a glance down at Alice.

She nodded her understanding of what he’d left unspoken whilst the heel of a hand smeared over her wet cheeks. ‘We all agreed, only us lot that was there will ever know what went on.’ She paused before gulping out, ‘Jeannie’s done it somehow.’

‘Yeah, I know. I was up watching for ’em. Looked like professionals. Knew what they was doing alright. In ‘n’ out real quick ‘n’ quiet. Used a handcart.’

Alice felt sick at knowing it, and immensely relieved. ‘I’ll do what I can for your family, promise,’ she choked out through the painful lump in her throat. ‘There’s vacancies in Turner’s. I’ll ask the supervisor if you like; put in a word about your dad getting a job. You can earn well on nights.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Me mum’ll do what she can for Margaret too, I know it.’

They passed an alley and Alice’s step faltered. She tugged Geoff towards it and down the narrow path then looked up at him earnestly. ‘Got so much I want to say to you,’ she gasped out. ‘Don’t know how. Don’t know how to say thanks or sorry or anything. I know I’ve not always been fair to you.’ A rosy bloom warmed her cheeks. ‘We could’ve been proper sweethearts sooner. I know that’s what you wanted and it’s not too late.’

‘Thanks for the offer.’ Geoff raised a hand to her face and cupped it tenderly. ‘But I got a train to catch. Ain’t got time for no canoodling with you, Alice Keiver.’

She flung herself at him, hugging him fiercely about the neck.

‘Ain’t risking getting you in the family way, much as I’d like to take you up on it,’ he whispered against her soft hair. ‘I ain’t me brother, remember it. I love you and when I come back for you it’ll be with a wedding ring.’

Alice plunged her mouth against his, trying to show him how much he meant to her and with sweet restraint he kissed her back.

‘Make it up to you when you come back on leave, I will,’ she said with a watery smile.

‘I’m gonna keep you to that . . . so do you want to change yer mind?’ Geoff asked hoarsely whilst a finger trembled, outlining her lips.

Their eyes locked and Alice felt a thrill ripple through her. She shook her head and went on tiptoe so their faces were close.

‘Love you, I do,’ she whispered, then plunged her mouth firmly on his. ‘You’re the best friend I ever had,’ she murmured against his cheek when their mouths had parted.

Geoff gazed deep into her eyes and a tinge of sadness was in his voice as he croaked, ‘Yeah . . . I know . . .’

‘Just come by to see how you’re doing.’

Tilly had cautiously opened the door a fraction, peeped around it, then let Jeannie in.

‘You look better than expected, all things considered,’ was Jeannie’s verdict once she’d given Tilly the once-over.

Tilly grunted a humourless laugh and instinctively probed at her tender cheek with her finger. ‘Just brewed. Want one?’

Jeannie nodded and took the tea. ‘People are gonna be asking why you’re in the state you are. Best give ’em an answer rather than let them find their own.’

It was sensible advice. Tilly knew that she and Fran couldn’t hide indoors for many weeks till their faces healed.

‘It’s well-known round here that I done a runner a while back. Well-known too that you was well ‘n’ truly narked about it. Good enough reason for a fight between us, I reckon.’

Tilly chuckled faintly. ‘So how come you got off so light? I’m known as a bruiser and you ain’t got a mark on you.’

‘Caught you at a bad time, didn’t I?’ Jeannie replied. ‘On an evening when you was legless.’

Tilly’s smile faded and she looked away. She knew if she hadn’t been drunk when Jimmy turned up things might have turned out differently. She’d not been able to think straight or defend herself when he’d crept up to her door. Yet Jimmy was dead now and she couldn’t but be thankful for that. ‘I was pissed alright, so we’re halfway there.’

‘When I go I’ll call you a few choice names and make it seem we’re still at loggerheads. A bit of pushing ‘n’ shoving outside might be useful. Old Beattie’s on watch, so let’s give her something to look at. Your sister will need her own story. How’s she look?’ Jeannie tacked on the end.

‘Bad; nose is broke and her belly needs to be stitched. She won’t go to hospital. Best not to anyhow. Doctors’ll be suspicious.’

‘I know a quack who’ll take a look at her. No questions.’

‘Why you doin’ all this for us?’ Tilly’s fierce demand flew through her fat lips. ‘I let you have a poxy blouse, that’s all. Weren’t nuthin’ special.’

‘Were at the time,’ Jeannie said succinctly and sipped from her tea. ‘Where I come from we return favours best we can.’

‘I take it your bloke got the body took away.’ Having received a nod Tilly muttered with a frown, ‘How d’you persuade him to get involved in something as bad as that?’

‘Usual way,’ Jeannie returned dryly.

Tilly chuckled until her cuts smarted.

‘We was sweethearts way back, when we was little more’n school kids,’ Jeannie explained. ‘Then I chose the wrong bloke and married Gordon Robertson instead of Johnny. Regretted it ever since. Johnny seemed a rough handful and Gordon seemed a charmer, but he turned nasty early on. By then Johnny had gone away. I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years when we run into each other and hooked up again. Lucky it was that he never married.’

‘Sounds like he never got over you. You must have him right round yer finger for him to do what he done that night.’

‘Nah; weren’t nuthin’ for someone like him. Getting corpses shifted . . . just another day at the office for Johnny Blake.’

‘You know what it’s like to take a beating, don’t you,’ Tilly stated quietly.

Without a word Jeannie took off her smart jacket and opened her silk blouse. She moved her camisole aside exposing a breast . . . or what remained of it.

Tilly stared at the shrivelled scarlet skin and then raised sorrowful eyes to Jeannie.

‘Me husband. Used an iron on me. Reckoned I’d been flirting . . . showin’ off me tits.’ She buttoned herself up again. ‘I’d took it all up till then. Left with the boys the same day though I was fainting in pain. Kept going though till I got here.’ She finished her tea and put the cup down on the table. ‘Fuckin’ good job actually that Johnny’s an arse man.’

‘So you can’t suggest where your husband is or what might have happened to him in his absence?’

‘Already said, ain’t I, he’d left me. We’re separated. Don’t know nuthin’ about what he gets up to no more. Don’t care neither. You can ask anyone round here if you don’t believe me. They all knew he’d cleared off to that tart Nellie Tucker.’

‘Why wouldn’t I believe you, Mrs Wild?’ Constable Bickerstaff tapped his pencil on his notebook. Swiftly he started writing. He flicked a look up at Fran just as she cast an appealing look towards her sister.

Tilly was sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea.

‘You heard what she said. If you want to know about Jimmy, best get yourself down Finsbury Park and question Nellie,’ Tilly suggested harshly.

‘We intend to,’ Constable Franks said. ‘We’ve come first to inform next of kin.’

‘You just said you ain’t sure it’s him you’ve found. Me sister might not be next of kin in that case.’

Ralph Franks coloured slightly beneath his colleagues’ withering look. He’d jumped the gun on that one and he knew it. He coughed. ‘That’s right. We’re not sure. It’s a headless corpse . . .’ He hesitated as he saw Mrs Wild gag. He received another glare from Bickerstaff.

‘The man had obviously been in a fight and had been stabbed. He looks to have been your husband’s size and height. He had a distinctive tattoo on his left arm that’s still visible,’ Constable Bickerstaff interjected. ‘A snake . . . your husband had a tattoo like that as I recall, Mrs Wild.’

‘Lots of men got snake tattoos,’ Tilly butted in and put an arm about her sister’s heaving shoulders. ‘Get going, will you. You’ve upset her now and it might not even be for a good reason.’

Twitch stared thoughtfully at his notes while he pondered on making the request. The body wasn’t a pretty sight. It had obviously been in the water for weeks. He knew too that what the women had said about Jimmy Wild and the tart was true. He could recall the street fight that had gone on between these two women and Nellie Tucker when Jimmy had first started knocking about with the prostitute. He decided to ask the question. ‘Would you be able to identify your husband’s body from that snake tattoo, Mrs Wild?’

Fran shook her head vigorously and suddenly swung around to spurt vomit on the floor.

‘Look what you’ve done to her!’ Tilly blasted. ‘Why should she look at it? Might be someone else’s old man.’

Constable Franks studied the mellowing bruising on Fran’s face. He then looked at similar yellowing on her sister’s cheek. They’d taken a beating at about the same time, it seemed. As the bruises were quite faded he’d guess that they’d got them at about the same time Jimmy Wild – if it was him – got dumped in the Thames. ‘You two been scrapping?’ he asked dryly.

‘Yeah . . .’

‘No . . .’

‘Well, which is it?’ Bickerstaff asked with a spasm. He knew what Franks was thinking. He’d already mulled that one over. He knew that Jimmy liked to use his fists. He knew he’d frequently set about his wife and kids, although he’d never known him to assault his sister-in-law. But Jack Keiver had gone to war and was no longer able to protect his wife from a man who got off on punching women.

‘I had a fight a few weeks back,’ Tilly blurted, keen to disperse the awkward quiet that had settled on the room. ‘Woman called Jeannie Robertson did a flit owing back rent and got me in the shit over it all with me guvnor. She’s been back here, ain’t she, and I went for her over it.’

‘You came off worst by the looks of things,’ Bickerstaff remarked. He knew that Tilly Keiver could hold her own in a fight so he remained sceptical. But she’d given him a line of enquiry if he cared to check.

‘And you?’ He turned his attention to Fran. ‘Were you helping to even the score with this . . . er . . .’ He referred to his notes. ‘Jeannie Robertson?’ The sorry sight of Fran’s wonky nose drew his eyes.

‘Not me,’ Fran said. ‘Ain’t my business.’

‘She fell down the stairs here, pissed,’ Tilly stated. ‘Been drinking too heavy since that bastard up ‘n’ left her with the kids and no money.’

Bickerstaff glanced thoughtfully at the floor then put away his book. ‘Well, I think that’s all. If the necessary evidence that it is your husband . . .’ This time Bickerstaff looked a trifle embarrassed. The proof they needed was a severed head, and referring to it had made Fran look as though she might again throw up. Briskly the two police constables took their leave, stepping daintily to avoid the mess on the boards.

Outside in the street the police officers started walking immediately in the direction of Lennox Road. Stares and catcalls followed them. They’d been seen going into the tenement house. Now quite a crowd had gathered to watch for them to leave. Rozzers weren’t liked walking the streets round here. They certainly weren’t wanted poking around inside the houses.

‘I reckon they’re lying and know more than they’re letting on. I reckon they might be guilty as hell.’

‘Yeah?’ Bickerstaff answered sardonically. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Wild’s given the two of them a painful seeing-to once too often and they’ve had enough. They’ve got someone to make sure it doesn’t happen again. If they managed to catch him unawares they could even have done it themselves.’

Ralph’s eyes slid sideways as they passed the Whittons’ house. Of course he knew that Connie wasn’t in there. She hadn’t moved back with her family when he kicked the lying, cheating whore out of his parents’ home. She’d moved into a swish apartment in the West End provided by her rich lover. He should have known that, having been bred in this dump, she’d be a no-good greedy tart out to take him for a ride. After she’d got her claws into him he’d even risked his career and his liberty trying to increase his earnings to buy her what she wanted. He’d become a bent copper for the bitch! Ralph’s eyes swerved ahead again, a bitter sneer visibly distorting his mouth.

Bickerstaff had noticed the change in his colleague’s demeanour and he understood the reason for it. Ralph Franks had been the butt of ribald humour at the station when word got around that his fiancée had been humping an old man. ‘You don’t want to let any personal grievances get in the way of how you judge people around here,’ he said. ‘The Whittons and the Keivers might be neighbours but they’re not necessarily out of the same mould . . .’

‘Shut up, will you,’ Ralph snarled, his face darkening in rage. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘Take it easy . . .’ Bickerstaff shrugged. ‘All I was going to say is, be careful how you approach this investigation or you’ll give some of them back at the station a reason to start chin-wagging all over again. I’ll let you know my theory on it all, shall I?’

‘If you want to, go ahead,’ Ralph muttered and averted his florid face. The old bastard always had something to say that got too near the mark.

‘This is Campbell Bunk we’re talking about here, so if every woman who’d had a fight with a neighbour – or an ex-neighbour – or every person who got drunk and went arse over tit down the stairs got arrested because they look a bit bashed-up and suspicious, we’d run out of cells to house them all in under an hour.’ He clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Mrs Wild’s distress was genuine enough; I’ve got the proof of that stuck to my shoes.’ He glanced with a grimace of distaste at vomit-spattered leather. ‘It’s a coincidence that those two look like they’ve come a cropper about the same time as Jimmy.’ Bickerstaff frowned thoughtfully. ‘I reckon we’ll find the answer to all of this from Nellie. If it is Wild . . . and it probably is . . . I think he got into trouble trying to punch above his weight. I’ve made a few enquiries here and there with nonces that know what goes on. Saul Bateman’s got involved in a prostitution ring. He’s been pimping for Nellie. I think Nellie got involved with him while she was still with Jimmy. Jimmy wouldn’t have liked sharing Nellie’s money three ways. In fact a little dickie bird told me that a fight between the two men took place in Nellie’s flat, and Bateman was heard threatening to kill him next time. Jimmy was spotted running off with blood on his face and his tail between his legs.’

‘Saul Bateman?’ Ralph had gone pale.

‘Yeah; he might be a second-rate rogue but he’s a nasty piece of work nevertheless. Jimmy wasn’t in the same league. If Jimmy refused to bow out gracefully when he was told to, he was a bloody fool. Saul wouldn’t have any qualms about making mincemeat out of Wild and feeding him to the fishes.’

‘I told you not to come here.’

‘Yeah, I know what you told me. I remember what I told you ‘n’ all. I ain’t caring for Mum on me own no more.’ Sarah Whitton glowered at her sister Connie. ‘Gonna let me in, then? Or we going to have a chat about it right here? Don’t matter to me. I’ll do it here . . . there . . . anywhere . . .’

Connie chewed her lower lip in frustration, regretting the day she had ever let either of her sisters know where she was living. She’d only passed on her address in case Ralph might come by Campbell Road, asking after her. She’d cherished a hope that he might perhaps send her a message via her family, or write to her because he wanted to know how she was.

Their parting had been extremely bitter; her pleas for another chance, her apologies for being greedy and stupid, had all been chucked back in her face. Connie had known what he’d really wanted to give her was a right-hander for making him a laughing stock in front of his family and his colleagues in the force. So she’d stayed with Mr Lucas, let him spoil her, as he liked to put it. But she knew it was only a matter of time before the old goat was spoiling someone else.

‘Shove off,’ Connie spat through her teeth at Sarah. ‘Me bloke will be here soon and he won’t want to see the likes of you hangin’ around making the place look untidy.’

‘It’s
you
don’t want the likes of me hangin’ around,’ Sarah snapped back. ‘Scared he might take a fancy to me, are yer?’ she sneered.

A spontaneous laugh erupted from Connie. ‘Sod me, if he did I’d know his sight’s failing along with the rest of him. You seen yourself lately?’ She gave her younger sister a derisive top-to-toe inspection. Sarah had a pleasant face but her figure was skinny and flat-chested. Today she had scraped her lank, mousy hair back from her features into a drooping bun. As for her clothes . . . it looked as though the rag shop in Fonthill was still getting her custom.

‘Fresh meat though, ain’t I?’ Sarah jibed, fired with indignation. Connie’s contempt hurt because it was genuine. But she’d wiped the smile from her sister’s face with that last comment. From Connie’s reaction Sarah guessed her sugar daddy had a roving eye. Knowing it unsettled Sarah too. She wanted Connie in clover almost as much as Connie did herself.

Connie’s apartment was on the first floor of an elegant whitewashed building on the outskirts of Mayfair. Having just climbed a wide, curving stairway Sarah now took a glance about the luxuriously carpeted hallway where was to be found apartment number twenty-three. When she’d turned up a short while ago the porter had given her the once-over followed by a threatening finger indicating the exit. It was a different doorman to the one who’d been on duty last time she’d called. This one was a burly hatchet-faced type. Sarah had thought he might kick her out but he’d reluctantly let her pass when she’d said her sister lived at number twenty-three and then carried on to describe Connie.

Hatchet-face had known her alright. Connie had always been a looker; with fine clothes and expensive grooming at her disposal she was beautiful. Even the scowl distorting her features couldn’t disguise that fact.

‘Get in here then fer Gawd’s sake, before someone sees you,’ Connie whispered in exasperation. Her eyes darted to left and right to spot if a nosy neighbour might be observing them.

Sarah whipped past her sister, a satisfied expression on her face. As she entered the scented apartment Sarah wondered how Connie’s gentleman friend liked taking her out and about in company when she spoke the way she did. Perhaps he didn’t give a hoot . . . or perhaps he’d warned her to keep her gob shut. Sarah was old enough to know a sugar daddy didn’t keep a girl in style so he could listen to her gabbing.

It was the second time Sarah had visited Connie here but the first time she’d been allowed over the threshold. The last time she’d turned up at a bad moment and Connie, on opening the door in just a flimsy silk wrap, had looked like she might faint in shock. Sarah had glimpsed at a distance some little old man with silvery hair peering down the hall at her. Sarah never had found out what yarn Connie had given him. Probably she’d said she was the char or some such thing.

Now Sarah stood in the sitting room gawping at the wonderful things her sister enjoyed. A glittering chandelier was above her head; plush, deep carpet beneath her feet. A pair of huge velvet-covered sofas were scattered with cream silk cushions that had tassels and beads that caught the light. Slowly Sarah caressed the cool jewels, ran her fingers through the silky fringes. She moved on to where a small side table held a long-stemmed glass half-full of what looked like a gin and tonic with a piece of lemon floating in it. Connie snatched it up and downed it in two gulps as though scared her sister might get to it first.

‘Done alright, ‘n’t yer?’ Sarah finally sourly observed.

‘Yeah. And that’s the way it’s staying so say your piece and get going.’ Connie put the back of a hand to her moist mouth. ‘Mr Lucas’ll be here any minute.’

‘Mr Lucas?’ Sarah chortled. ‘Is that what you call him?’

‘He likes me to be formal with him . . . respectful, he calls it. Gentlemen that age got manners ‘n’ things,’ Connie continued defensively.

‘Got money ‘n’ things ‘n’ all, some of them old gentlemen like your Mr Lucas,’ Sarah jibed.

‘He’s a nice old stick; treats me well anyhow,’ Connie snapped.

‘Yeah . . . I can see,’ Sarah replied with increasing sarcasm as she deliberately studied evidence of Connie’s lucrative profession.

‘Oh . . . just piss off, will you.’ Connie flounced about.

‘I will, don’t worry, soon as I’ve told you what I want,’ Sarah said. ‘And just in case you think I’m pickin’ on you ’cos you’ve turned flash and tarty I’ll tell you now I’m going after Louisa ‘n’ all over this.’