One Fight at a Time (31 page)

Grover swung again, this time aiming for the side of Shaw’s head. The tin shovel end banged against Shaw’s left temple. His head spun round, the rest of his body followed, revolving like a kid’s top. He tried to straighten, tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor. By the time he got to his knees, Grover had the truncheon in his hand. And it was all over.

Shaw’s back was burning, the left side of his face was bleeding, and he was not sure which direction he was facing. His breathing sounded like he was gargling.

“Do you have anything to say?” Grover asked.

Shaw blinked and tried to straighten up, but it hurt too much.

“Fuck off,” he managed to gasp.

Grover pulled Shaw up into a sitting position, then thumped the truncheon down onto the back of his neck. The caretaker crumpled to the floor and lay still. Grover put the truncheon back on the desk, hoisted him into a fireman’s lift and set off up the stairs.

Mrs Holland was watering the begonia on her window sill with a child’s tin watering can. Grover dropped Shaw into the visitor’s chair, feet splayed in front of him. Mrs Holland watered on until she had finished, then turned round to deal with the commotion behind her. Grover reached for the desk phone and picked up the receiver. Mrs Holland dropped her watering can and stared at the caretaker, struck into silence. Grover fished Bridge’s calling card, out of a jacket pocket and dialled the number. Mrs Holland felt water seeping around her toes on the carpet and finally found something to say.

“What have you done to him?”

Grover’s call was taken by DS Goole.

“This is Ed Grover. I have Nicholas Hope’s killer. The caretaker at St Christopher’s Childrens Home.”

Goole asked him if he was serious.

“Get round here now. Double quick time, top gear, sirens, the lot. I’m about to call an ambulance.”

He put the receiver down and looked back at Shaw. Mrs Holland picked up the watering can.

*

The medics got to St Christopher’s two minutes ahead of Bridge and Goole. The sergeant watched them put Shaw into the ambulance and sent a constable along for the ride. Grover took Bridge downstairs and gave him the story.

“I wanted to talk with Shaw. I found him down here. He waved his truncheon at me. I took it away from him and hit him with it.”

“More than once, by the look of things.”

Grover pointed at the pile of coal. “No, the injury on his cheek came from that spade.”

Bridge stared at it.

“The thing is, Chief Inspector,” Grover continued, “Mr Bullivant hyphen Shaw is a child molester from years ago. I can provide you with testimony that goes way back to the late thirties. Nick Hope was repeatedly sodomised here, when he was a kid. The pain, the guilt and the disgust never went away. In the end he took to blackmail. Shaw stood for it as long as he could, until he decided enough was enough. He killed Hope using Harry’s switchblade, which he found in the flat. The defence team can give you chapter and verse, blow by blow.”

Grover pointed to the furnace.

“That’s probably where he got rid of his blood-stained clothes.”

Bridge was listening, but not convinced by what he was hearing. Grover moved to the desk and pointed at the truncheon.

“This is what Shaw used to sodomise Hope in his flat. It’s also the blunt instrument which knocked him out. Give it to your pathologist and he’ll match it with the injury to Hope’s head.”

Grover now had the Chief Inspector’s complete and undivided attention.

“We have evidence, legally obtained, to support all this – including Hope’s address book and his most recent bank statements.”

Bridge looked as if he was about to interrupt. Grover shook his head.

“Your crime scenes team missed the statements when they searched Hope’s flat. The new tenants found them when they scrubbed the place out. Harry had already taken Hope’s address book away. He gave it to Jerry Wharton, who gave it to me.”

Bridge recognised an endgame when he encountered one. He looked Grover in the eyes.

“Alright,” he said. “We can’t ignore all that. Bring Harry and his solicitor into the Bridewell tomorrow and we’ll sort it out.”

“As the burden of proof lies on your shoulders, can I suggest you meet Harry and his defence team, at the offices of Fincher Reade and Holborne. Tomorrow morning, at 10 o’clock. Zoe and Suzy will run the show. You won’t have to listen to me.”

“Fincher Reade and Holborne.” Bridge rolled the names around on his tongue. “Do they still serve up chocolate bourbons with the coffee?”

On the ground floor again, walking along the corridor towards the front door, he asked Grover if he had any plans.

“What sort of plans?”

“Are you going home?”

“Maybe not yet. I kind of like it here.”

Bridge did not seem surprised. Grover went on.

“There is a whole lot about this country I don’t understand. And whole chunks of it I haven’t seen. Snowdonia for example. And I figure, that as I played a significant role in the defeat of the Nazi hordes, the British authorities might cut me some slack.”

Bridge grinned at him. The two men reached the front door. Grover looked at the policeman.

“My twelve day pass is up at the weekend.”

“I need an official statement from you,” Bridge said. “Do you want to do it now?”

“I believe I’m allowed to talk with my lawyer first.”

Bridge walked down the front steps and across the forecourt to the Wolseley. Goole opened the left rear passenger door and got in after his boss. The car fired up, U turned in front of Grover and drove out into the traffic.

Grover moved to
Salome
and did the same.

*

Zoe was in court. Grover sat down in the meeting room with Mel and told her exactly what he had told DCI Bridge, and said he had another statement to make. She offered to go to the police station with him. He shook his head. Assured her he would be okay.

He left Fincher Reade and Holborne and walked the three hundred yards to the Bridewell. He was in and out in twenty-five minutes.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Wednesday morning, 8 o’clock...

Mark Chaplin signed in the day shift at Palmers Wood Yard. Bert Harker had not shown up all week. His two closest cronies said they hadn’t seen him since they clocked off on Friday. He had missed his Saturday lunchtime rendezvous at the
Lock
and
Key
and his Saturday evening dominoes match at the
Green
Man
. He had vanished.

*

10 o’clock...

Mark arrived at Blenheim Villas to wait for Harry to turn up, as a van driver from Averys was delivering champagne. A present to the Top Floor Flat, from Daniel Zampa.

Leroy was looking good and moving well. Rachel and an army of cleaners hired by Zampa, had made great progress with the refurbishments, in a little more than seventy-two hours. The new second hand sofa looked terrific. And the second hand iron framed, double bed. The dining table had been scrubbed and was now surrounded by a set of four bentwood dining chairs. There was no carpet, but the floor had been cleaned and sanded.

Grover, Mark, Rachel and Leroy clinked glasses and toasted the future. Mark was a little distracted.

“Harry will be alright,” Grover said. “He has Zoe and Mel and Suzy in his corner. A tougher bunch than the Hole in the Wall Gang.”

Mark was not exactly sure who they were. But he smiled and raised his glass again.

“Thank you,” he said. Then included the rest of the room. “Thank you, all of you. I’m sorry we caused so much trouble.”

Grover thought of something. “Speaking of trouble makers. How’s Bert Harker?”

“His two mates, Carter and Short, say they haven’t seen him since last weekend,” Mark said.

Zampa had obviously done what he had said he would do. Whatever that was. Best not to think about it, Grover decided.

The phone in the hall rang. Rachel left the flat to answer it. She came back up the stairs, faster than she went down.

“It’s all over,” she said. “On the advice of the DPP, the police have decided not to go ahead with the prosecution. Unlikely to earn a conviction, in the light of new evidence gathered by the defence team.”

The folks outside, walking along Cumberland Road, must have heard the cheering.

Leroy re-filled Grover’s glass. “Here’s to you Ace. You did a great job.”

“Thanks.”

“Daniel Zampa was impressed,” Leroy added.

“For which we can only be thankful.”

Rachel joined them. “When are you due back in Fairford?”

“Three days’ time,” Grover said.

“And then you’re going home?”

“That’s what the army says.”

He took a drink of champagne. Rachel looked into his eyes as he swallowed.

“And you can’t make up your mind how you feel about that,” she said.

“I’ve been away from the States for a long time,” Grover said.

*

11 o’clock...

Zoe, Mel, Suzy, Harry and his parents arrived with more champagne. Zoe raised the bottle.

“Courtesy of Neil. He can’t get here. He’s busy with practice matters. He sends his regards.” She looked at Grover. “Especially to you Ed. And I’d like to join him in that.”

“So would we all,” Ellie said.

There was another round of cheering, shared by the folks in the street.

Harry and Mark talked for a couple of minutes, then Mark left to return to the wood yard. Ellie moved to Grover.

“Thank you Ed. From the bottom of my heart.”

He took his time to reply. Ellie looked into his eyes and waited.

“I was lost and miserable the day you took my coat and dried it in front of your fire,” Grover said. “It was a singular kindness. And I appreciated all your letters. Specially through ’44 and ’45. They kept me focused. I felt like I had something, some people, to live for. And through the occupation years and the time in Berlin, I thought less and less about home and more about here. I wanted to come back here.”

Ellie smiled at him. He smiled back and raised his glass.

Zoe took the floor.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, the news...” She waited for silence. “Mr Bullivant-Shaw has been charged with the murder of Nicholas Hope. He has confessed to that. And the reason our bright, smart and devious Neil Adkins can’t be here, is because at this moment he is talking with the police and a representative of the DPP. Making them an offer they would be foolish to refuse. The services of Fincher Reade and Holborne’s brilliant senior KC, as prosecuting counsel. I assure you, we will be in court no more than two hours.”

Zoe spread her arms wide and beamed around the room. To roars of approval.

Glasses were filled again.

Grover moved out of the room. Zoe found him on the landing, sitting on the top step of the stairs. She sat down by his side on the worn carpet. Grover looked around the stairwell.

“Most of this is fixed. Rachel and Leroy will be alright here,” he said.

Zoe turned her head and looked at him. He looked at her.

“I’m proud of you Ed Grover,” she said.

“It was a pleasure,” he said. “And, on reflection, the last couple of weeks might be considered the best of my life.”

“Really?

“I found new friends and did something good.”

“You did something good, for years, in Europe.”

“Maybe. But this time, I didn’t have to kill anybody. And that’s worth celebrating.”

There was a long pause. They both stared down into the stairwell. Neither of them giving voice to the one issue they both wanted to address. Grover was the first to crack. He looked at Zoe again.

“What do I have to do to stay in this country?”

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One Fight at a Time
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