A Bespoke Murder (18 page)

‘Could you be a little more specific, Mr Fine?’

‘Well,’ said the other, ‘it came down to two people, I suppose. I hardly saw Mr Stein himself but I had to deal with Mr Cohen and Mr Burridge every day. Mr Cohen – he’s the manager – resented me for some reason. He was always criticising my work.’

‘What about Mr Burridge?’

‘He was much more of a problem. I hate arguments, you see, and run a mile if someone confronts me. Mr Burridge was always doing that. He didn’t just resent me – he hated me and I still don’t know why. I mean, I tried my best. What more could they ask?’

‘So,’ said Keedy, wishing that the man would twitch less, ‘there was obviously tension at work.’

‘It wasn’t
my
fault.’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t, sir.’

‘I was bullied by Mr Burridge and sniped at by Mr Cohen. To tell you the truth, it began to get on my nerves. At least I don’t have that problem in my new post.’

‘And where might that be, Mr Fine?’

‘I work for a bespoke tailor in Brighton,’ said Fine, beaming. ‘It’s not as grand as being in the West End but I’m much happier and I’m able to live at home with my parents. All in all, it’s worked out for the best. Let’s face it,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘if I’d stayed with Mr Stein, my job would no longer exist. What a tragedy that would have been. Not that it compares with what happened to Mr Stein, of course,’ he said, hastily. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think I’m
that
self-centred. I was
shaken rigid when I heard about the murder. It preyed on my mind for days. I do hope you catch the man who killed him.’

Fine launched himself into a paean of praise about Jacob Stein, saying what an honour it had been to work for him, albeit for only a short time. Keedy let him ramble on for minutes then halted him with a forthright question.

‘Why did he give you the sack?’

Stopped dead in his tracks, Fine looked almost insulted.

‘If Mr Stein liked your work enough to take you on,’ said Keedy, ‘why did he dismiss you?’

‘He didn’t dismiss me,’ said the other, petulantly. ‘If truth be told, he wanted me to stay.’

‘Then who got rid of you – was it Mr Cohen?’

‘No – he didn’t have the authority.’

‘Somebody must have sacked you. Who was it?’

Howard Fine winced, his nervous smile replaced by a grimace.

‘It was Mr Stein’s brother,’ he said. ‘Herbert Stone.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Herbert Stone would never win any awards for patience. Once his brother’s funeral was over, and once he felt that he’d convinced Ruth of the seriousness of her sin in attempting suicide, he turned his attention to the investigation once more. Instead of hounding Harvey Marmion directly, he went over the inspector’s head and spoke to the commissioner. They met in the latter’s office at Scotland Yard. Sir Edward Henry gave details of the progress made so far but was unable to announce the arrest either of the killer, or of the man believed to have used petrol to accelerate the blaze. Stone was peeved.

‘Why is it taking so long, Sir Edward?’

‘Evidence has to be pieced together bit by bit.’

‘Put more detectives on the case,’ suggested Stone.

‘That’s not possible,’ explained the commissioner. ‘The events in Jermyn Street are not the only crimes with which we have to deal. There are scores of other cases demanding urgent attention. I’m doing my best
to deploy my men to the best advantage but – with a depleted force – I can’t spare any more of them at the moment.’

‘Perhaps I should hire some private detectives.’

‘That’s your right, of course, but I wouldn’t advise it. No private detective has the resources that Scotland Yard can offer, nor the experience of someone like Inspector Marmion. You seem to have forgotten that he’s already solved one serious crime,’ said Sir Edward. ‘Incidentally, how is your niece?’

Stone’s face darkened. ‘Ruth is still suffering badly.’

‘Was she heartened by the news of the two arrests made?’

‘She will be in due course – when she’s pulled herself together.’

‘I’ve dealt with victims of crime for many years,’ said the commissioner, ‘and what I’ve noticed is that their greatest need is for reassurance. They want to feel safe and that the outrage will not occur again. It’s only after those two imperatives have been met that they begin to think about punishment for the offenders.’

‘I’ve thought about nothing else,’ said Stone, icily.

‘In arresting the two men, we’ve given your niece some peace of mind. They no longer represent a threat to her. The healing process can finally begin.’

‘It may not be as easy as that, Sir Edward.’

‘Why not?’

‘Ruth is an unusually sensitive girl.’

Stone did not tell him about the despair into which his niece had sunk, nor did he mention the abortive attempt at killing herself. They were private matters that had to be kept strictly within the family. What he did explain was that, hopefully, Ruth’s brother was on his way home. Stationed with his regiment in Mesopotamia, Daniel Stein had missed his father’s funeral and there was no certainty that word of it had actually
reached him because the expedition was on the move. Writing to his nephew’s commanding officer, Stone had asked for compassionate leave so that Daniel could return home to mourn with the rest of the family. He and his sister had always been close. Stone believed that seeing him again might help to bring Ruth out of her depression. Before that could happen, however, Daniel would have to make the long and perilous journey home.

‘This war has played havoc with families,’ observed Sir Edward. ‘And as far as I can see, there’s no end in sight.’

‘Daniel is needed here. I expressed that need in the strongest terms, yet I still haven’t had a response.’

‘Correspondence does go astray, I fear.’

‘Then I’ll keep on sending word until it gets through.’

‘You do that, Mr Stone. Perseverance is everything.’

They chatted for a few more minutes then Stone rose to leave. After a farewell handshake, he moved to the door, pausing when he remembered something.

‘You might tell Inspector Marmion that I’m considering the hire of private detectives,’ he said.

‘Why should I do that?’

‘It might act as a spur to him if he knows he has competition.’

‘Nobody can compete with the inspector,’ said Sir Edward.

‘It won’t be the first time I’ve had to take matters into my own hand,’ explained Stone, pointedly. ‘When one of my warehouses was razed to the ground, I realised that I couldn’t rely on police protection. That’s why I’ve brought in a private firm to guard my property.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘You might mention
that
to the inspector as well.’

* * *

When both interviews were concluded, the detectives discussed them over a cup of coffee. Marmion felt that he’d had the more productive session, picking up a whole new line of inquiry from Cyril Burridge. Keedy was as astonished as the inspector had been that the name of Herbert Stone was put forward as a possible suspect.

‘Mind you,’ said Keedy, thoughtfully, ‘it does chime in with something that Howard Fine told me.’

‘What was that, Joe?’

‘The person who booted him out of a job was Herbert Stone.’

‘Who gave him the right to do that?’

‘He just took it.’

‘That decision should surely have lain with Jacob Stein.’

‘I put that point to Fine.’

‘What was his response?’

‘He said that Stone was always poking his nose into the shop and asking to see the accounts. He obviously has some stake in the company but Fine didn’t know what it was.’

‘We need to dig a little deeper on that front.’

Keedy shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I can’t accept that Stone is behind it all. What possible motive would he have for killing his brother and seeing the premises go up in smoke? Unless the place was heavily insured, of course – can we find out if it was?’

‘I’ve already sent someone off to do just that,’ said Marmion. ‘And I agree that Stone would not be my prime suspect either. On the other hand, we didn’t see any sign of grief when he realised that his brother might be dead. I’d be devastated if anything like that had happened to Ray.’

‘How is your brother?’

‘He’s still doing good work in the name of the Salvation Army.’

Keedy grinned. ‘Brass bands and soup kitchens, eh?’

‘Don’t mock them, Joe. They relieve distress. How many people can you say that about?’

‘Very few.’

‘There you are, then.’

‘No disrespect to your brother but I think that people in the Salvation Army are holy fools – full of good intentions, yes, but altogether too misguided.’

‘I must remember to invite you over next time that Ray and Lily come to tea. By the end of the meal, I guarantee, they’ll have you banging the tambourine and singing hymns as loud as anyone.’

‘Don’t bet on that.’

‘You’re ripe for conversion,’ teased Marmion.

‘Oh no I’m not,’ said Keedy with a chuckle. ‘But since we’re on the subject of tea at the Marmion household, I haven’t really thanked you for inviting me last Sunday. Please pass on my thanks to the family.’

‘It was good to see you off duty, Joe.’

‘I could say the same about you. And it was lovely to see Ellen and Alice again. They both looked wonderful. I had a long talk with your daughter,’ he said, recalling their time alone in the kitchen. ‘Alice is so intelligent. I can see why she frightens most men off.’

‘I’m still not sure if that’s good or bad.’

‘She seems perfectly happy with things as they are.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Alice told me that her mother wants grandchildren.’

‘They can wait,’ said Marmion, philosophically.

‘Not indefinitely.’

‘The right time will come.’

‘The right time or the right man?’

Marmion smiled. ‘Ideally, both of them will arrive together.’

It was a cloudy day and the promise of rain encouraged Alice Marmion to walk briskly along the pavement. She was on her way home from school and her bag was bulging with the books she had to mark. It was impossible to miss the signs of war all around her. At the outbreak of the conflict, there had been little visible difference in the streets beyond the fluttering of a few Union Jacks. Flags were much more in evidence now and so were people in uniform. Recruiting posters stared down from advertising hoardings. Walls were daubed with patriotic slogans. As a young man limped past on crutches, Alice knew that he’d lost his leg somewhere in combat, one of an untold number of amputees invalided out of the forces.

She arrived home to see her mother hunched over a newspaper.

‘I thought you’d stopped reading the paper, Mummy.’

‘I tried to,’ said Ellen, ‘but, whenever I go shopping, people are talking about the latest news. If I want to join in the discussion, I have to make an effort to keep up.’ She looked up. ‘Good day at school?’

‘Yes,’ said Alice, ‘it was very good, as it happens.’

‘The children are lucky to have a teacher like you.’

‘That’s what I keep telling them.’

Ellen’s tone was meaningful. ‘It’s what you do best.’

‘All right, Mummy, don’t labour the point. You’ve said all there is to say on the subject of my future. Why not wait until I’ve actually made my decision?’

‘I’m hoping your pupils will make it for you.’

Alice put down her bag and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle.
After she’d lit the gas and put the kettle on the hob, she came back into the living room. Ellen was still reading a report.

‘Do they say anything about that Zeppelin raid we had in London last night?’ asked Alice.

‘Yes – it’s the first of many according to this. It’s terrifying when you think about it,’ said Ellen. ‘It’s not enough for the Germans to fight on land and sea. Now they want to drop bombs on us from the sky. It’s inhuman.’

‘It’s no more than we’ll do to them in time.’

‘Every day brings more bad news. First, it was all those setbacks in Gallipoli and now it’s the fighting in Flanders. The battle of Ypres keeps going on and on.’

‘Daddy and Joe Keedy were fortunate not to get too close to it.’

‘They got close enough.’

‘What does it say in the paper?’

‘It just lists the casualty figures. It’s not one big battle but a series of small ones in the northern sector of something called the Ypres Salient. It started last month when the German 4
^th
Army attacked the Allied front line.’ She peered at the article. ‘I’m not sure if I’m pronouncing it right but it was the Battle of Gravenstafel Ridge. That’s when they began to use gas attacks.’ Ellen put the paper aside. ‘I can’t read any more. I keep thinking about Paul.’

‘He’s nowhere near Ypres, Mummy.’

‘How do you know that? He may have been moved.’

‘Worrying will get us nowhere.’

‘I tell myself that every day, Alice, but I still fret over your brother. He has his whole life ahead of him. It would be cruel if—’

‘I know,’ interrupted Alice, ‘but it’s the same for every other family with sons in the army. All we can do is to watch and pray.’

Ellen gave a resigned nod and went off into the kitchen. Alice took the opportunity to pick up the paper and read the main stories. The news was dispiriting. Vast amounts of money and manpower were being dedicated to the task of winning small amounts of territory. It seemed pointless to her. Lives were being uselessly sacrificed for what appeared to be minimal gains. Her brother’s letters talked of the severe deficiencies experienced by those in the trenches, yet he was not in a combat zone. Alice thought how much worse it must be for those compelled to lurk in a hole in the ground until someone blew a whistle and ordered them to race towards the enemy machine guns. Like her mother, she could not bear to read too much and set the paper aside. When Alice finally went into the kitchen, Ellen was pouring hot water into the pot. She slipped the tea cosy into position.

‘Your father is so glad that Joe Keedy didn’t join up,’ she said.

‘Lots of other policemen did.’