The hubbub was punctuated by a top note of banshee screams of female outrage and a bass note of drunken singing. Somewhere a Scotsman was growling out the chorus of ‘Loch Lomond’. In the background, cell bells rang every few seconds and the heavy doors to the cell block creaked opened and clanged shut.
Sandilands presented himself to the elderly charge officer, who appeared insulated from the cacophony around him by three feet of shining mahogany counter. He waited for the sergeant to put down his mug of coffee and drop his newspaper to the floor.
‘Afternoon, sergeant. I’m surprised you can concentrate on the racing results with this hullabaloo going on. Stop it, will you?’
‘Sir! Yes, sir! I’d be only too glad to oblige, but, sorry, sir. I can’t, sir.’
There was steel in the commander’s tone as he responded to the affected servility. ‘You’re in charge here, are you not? If you have a superior officer about the place, produce him.’
The sergeant was not easily subdued. He’d seen commanders come and go. ‘Sorry, you’ve got me, sir. Best we can do for you this afternoon.’ His voice revealed a London man secure on his own patch and resenting the intruder. It was only just sufficiently deferential. ‘Nothing I’d like better than a bit o’ peace and quiet like what you ’ave at the Yard,’ he offered blandly. ‘But we’ve got our hands full today, what with the little bit of extra you sent us — those lads requiring a bit of special attention, like. The other prisoners have been backing up. We’re using the common space as an extra charge room.’ He pointed to a second room where a row of six young men sat disconsolately along the wall awaiting interrogation while a pair of constables filled in their details on forms at a large polished table, barking the occasional question at them.
All this was making an unfortunate impression on the commander. His spine straightened to an alarming degree, his height, already impressive, seeming to increase by a couple of inches. He had taken on a sinister stillness.
At last the sergeant became aware that he was running into danger and adjusted his tone. ‘Sorry about the din, sir. That caterwauling’s been going on since the constable arrested her.’ He pointed to a small and dishevelled prostitute who was attempting, between yells, to bite out the throat of the meaty lad holding her stolidly at arm’s length. ‘She’s gone bonkers. Name’s Doris. Tart. Has her beat along the Strand. Regular customer. Bit barmy, but this performance is unusual even for her.’
‘Sarge,’ Lily said, ‘give me a minute with her, will you? I’ve had dealings with Doris before — she knows me. I might be able to sort it out.’
She waited for his nod before making her way over to the wrestling pair. Gently she eased the constable’s grip, inserting herself between the two struggling figures. She leaned and whispered in Doris’s ear. After a stunned silence, Doris’s screams turned to sobs, then sniffles and whimpers. Finally she spoke to Lily in a torrent of words that Sandilands and the sergeant could make neither head nor tail of. It seemed to consist of no more than a list of names: ‘Our Alice, little ’erbert, Georgie …’ Lily nodded, whispered a further question and listened to the outpouring of emotion and fear that followed.
Lily turned to the arresting constable. ‘Tom, fetch me a glass of water, would you?’ While he went off to fetch one, Lily spoke again to the dejected figure before her. ‘I can see what needs to be done, Doris. And the sooner the better. Look — leave it with me, love. I’ll find them, see they’re all right and alert Rhoda. She’s still living in Bradman’s Court, is she? Right you are then. Here, have a drink. Thank you, Tom. Now — you know the routine, Doris. Just go through to the charge room with the constable and do what you have to do. Tom’s new around here — you’ll have to show him the ropes! It’ll be faster in the end. And for Gawd’s sake, gel, keep the squawking bottled.’
Sandilands and the sergeant watched in astonishment as Doris nodded, calmly linked arms with the constable and hurried him into the charge room.
Lily returned to the desk, fire in her eyes. ‘She has four children under the age of six left at home by themselves. She was out earning some cash for their dinner. Her mother would normally look in on the nippers but she’s down with the flu and no one else knows they’re there. The smallest is only nine months old and will be screaming with hunger by now. The oldest is only five and can’t control the toddlers. I’ve promised to go round and stir up a neighbour who might be persuaded to lend a hand. It’ll take about an hour. Will you excuse me, sir?’
She was turning for the door in her eagerness to be off. Sandilands grabbed her by the shoulder. ‘No, I won’t excuse you,’ he said firmly. He fixed the sergeant with a flinty glare. ‘Constable Wentworth is assisting me on a matter of national importance. I will not have her precious time wasted doing social work arising from the incompetence of desk staff.’ He produced a ten-shilling note from his pocket and handed it to the sergeant. ‘Give the woman this and set her loose. You should have more sense than to allow the premises to be cluttered up by trivial, time-wasting cases at a moment of emergency.’
‘Yessir. At once, sir.’ The sergeant followed the pair into the charge room, leaving the door open, handed the note over with a flourish and in a few words explained that Doris was to be bailed immediately, orders of the commander.
As Doris ran off with a backward wave and a mouthed ‘Ta, love!’ for Lily, the sergeant turned again to Sandilands. ‘Wonderful, sir. Glad you called by. Now, would the constable like to deal with Rob Roy in the tam-o’-shanter over there? He’s been making his way back to Loch Lomond for the last two hours.’
‘What’s the charge?’ Sandilands asked.
‘Drunk and disorderly. Could have been grievous bodily harm if we’d been able to make one of the complainants stand and testify. Drunk as a skunk. Caught making lewd gestures with his sporran and assaulting any man he heard talking English in Leicester Square. And that takes a bit of doing nowadays but he managed to find and clobber six before we got hold of him. Down here with his mates for a wedding and got left behind. Officer Smithson who’s grammar school educated and knows what he’s talking about says it’s a Celtic custom. All to do with … stag-worship, I believe he said. The horned god … fecundity … plenty of drink taken … that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t think the Scots need to refer to the calendar before they plan a knees-up. And the many-antlered Cernunnos would hardly recognize our friend as an acolyte,’ Joe added since the sergeant seemed to be partial to a bit of northern folklore. ‘Lord! Let’s hope our chap isn’t the bridegroom. What’s his name?’
‘Doesn’t remember his name or his address. Thick accent — we can’t work out a word he’s saying.’
Sandilands put a hand on Lily’s arm. ‘My turn, I think, Wentworth. You have his belongings, sarge?’
The officer produced a shoe box from under the counter. ‘No calling card, I’m afraid, sir, to give us a clue. Let’s see what we have got.’ He muddled through the items, listing them one by one. ‘Just a small amount of cash, a couple of beer mats, a map of London, a used handkerchief, a ticket stub and a sporranful of confetti.’
Joe held back a flash of impatience as he viewed the contents of the box. These clowns had all they needed to hand and had ignored it. He pounced on the ticket. ‘It doesn’t exactly have his address on it, but this ticket was issued in Glasgow. He came down on a return ticket and this is the all-important return half. What time is the next train to Scotland from King’s Cross?’
‘One every hour, on the half-hour, I think.’ The response was subdued as the sergeant took account of the lapse. He hung his head, waiting for the inevitable reprimand.
It didn’t come. The commander’s tone was encouraging. ‘Right. Then our problems are over. There’s one in twenty minutes. Send one of your blokes with him in a taxi to the station. He’s to be sure to put him on the train and watch him disappear.’ He took out another ten-shilling note. ‘This is for the taxi and any other expenses. Now give him his belongings back and get him out of here.’ He looked about him as the sergeant saw to it and commented drily: ‘Not sure I can afford to know you lot much longer.’
‘Peace and quiet comes at a price around here,’ murmured the sergeant.
‘I’m already enjoying my quid’s worth,’ Joe replied as the great door swung closed and everyone listened in relief to nothing but the distant hum of traffic on Piccadilly.
‘Now, to business,’ he went on. ‘Constable Wentworth wishes to cast an eye on the pair arrested in connection with the shooting of Admiral Dedham last night. You still have them here? I left instructions that they were to be handed on to no one else. Come on, man! You have them?’
The sergeant replied with surprise and reluctance. ‘Yes. Yes. Of course, sir. In the cells.’ He leaned across the counter in a show of confidentiality. ‘Not that we haven’t had offers from other interested parties to take them off our hands, just like you warned us. I stonewalled ’em, of course. Referred them to you, sir. Seemed to work. But, sir, er … Not sure the prisoners are fit to be interviewed in the presence of a lady officer. Rough types. They resisted arrest, of course. And they’ve had an intensive interrogation. They’re resting at present. Getting ready for their day in court. Preliminary hearing at the Old Bailey. No one’s wasting much time over this, eh, sir? Knotting the rope already, you might say …’
Sandilands cut him short. ‘We’ll go through. Five minutes for each man. No more. You are holding them in separate cells?’
‘That’s right, sir. Watch out for the big one. He’s a nasty piece of work. The little ’un’s got no more fight in him. He’ll give no trouble.’ He summoned up a brute-faced copper with hands like ham shanks. ‘PC Kent has established relations of a sort with them. He’s got their number. Kent — take them through to see our Irish friends, will you? And watch out for the lady. And, sir, we’re saying five minutes, tops, with each. If Constable Wentworth can take as much as five minutes.’
They followed Kent through one of the six doors that gave access to the cells. After a great deal of flourishing with the keys and clanging of bolts, Joe entered a step ahead of Lily into the cell of the larger and more aggressive of the two prisoners.
The stench made him reel back. The small space stank of urine, blood, vomit and a disturbing chemical smell that made him retch. The gloom was disorienting. Somewhere in that fetid darkness a form moved slightly and uttered a groan. Focusing on the sound, Joe eventually made out the shape of a man sitting uncomfortably on a narrow metal bench. He was hunched over, clutching his stomach, and paid no attention to their entrance. Was this the assassin? It could have been anyone. His head was sheathed from chin to scalp in a thick layer of bloodstained surgical bandage. Someone had cut a hole around the nose and mouth to allow him to breathe.
With a gesture, Sandilands indicated to Lily that he was allowing her precedence and stood back a pace. Trying to keep her voice level, Lily introduced herself to this nightmare figure and asked: ‘Sean, will you show me your back, please?’
The figure growled and shrank further into the wall.
‘You’ll get no cooperation from him, miss,’ said Kent who was standing protectively at her side. ‘Bullet’s out if that’s what you’re bothered about. Taken away for evidence. The doc had to put him out cold to extract it. Ether it was, to get him to be still. That’s what you can smell. He’s been patched up good and proper. They’ll take him to the hospital when he’s heard his charges.’
The sudden roar from the bandaged head took everyone by surprise. A torrent of abuse in Gaelic poured out. Joe couldn’t understand a word but every one was unmistakably a curse.
Kent put a hand on Lily’s arm and she started at the touch. ‘It’s all right, miss. But I’m afraid that’s all you’re going to get from him. Better come away now.’
The voice came again through the hole in the bandage. Louder. And, alarmingly, it was speaking in English. ‘Not quite all. I have something to offer the lady. Where are you, miss? Not seeing too well … my eyes have been pounded to a pulp.’
The padded head moved slowly from left to right, seeking her out, until she took a step forward and whispered, ‘I’m here.’
Joe’s hands clamped round her upper arms and jerked her backwards out of shot, as, with a spitting hiss, a broken tooth in a gobbet of blood landed at her feet.
Lily was still twitching with shock as Kent locked up the cell behind them. ‘Sorry, miss. Who’d ever have thought it? He must have been saving that up in his cheek. Little offering for the magistrate is probably what he had in mind.’
Joe, embarrassed and uncomfortable, gave her a moment to pull herself together and then asked, confident of her answer: ‘No need to take a look at the other one, I think, Wentworth? Just more of the same.’
‘No, sir, I’d like to see Sean number two if you wouldn’t mind.’
Kent sighed and shrugged and sought out the key for the second cell.
The same sorry spectacle presented itself in here. The same carefully arranged concealing bandages were in place. Sandilands judged they had been applied by the professional hand of a nurse or doctor following the police interrogation.
Kent performed the introductions.
‘Sean — I don’t know if you can see me? No? I’m a woman police officer. I’ve not come to take a statement.’ Her carefully prepared questions ran into the sand as she stared with pity at the small, battered body. ‘I just wondered if there was anything you’d like me to hear. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll go away and leave you in peace.’
The voice spoke in English. English with a London twang. ‘Peace? If only you could. I’m going to hang, aren’t I?’
‘It looks very much like that, Sean. You killed a very distinguished man and a London bobby and left a butler and a cab-driver wounded.’
After a pause: ‘The butler. I’m sorry about him. And the cabby. Wasn’t their business. Just doing their jobs. How are they, miss?’
‘They’re going to recover. It’ll take a week or two but they’ll be all right,’ Lily said.
‘Well that’s something. I’m glad of that. It’s a crumb of peace you’ve brought me. Now all I can do is stand up and take my punishment like a man.’
‘I must go now,’ Lily said and, unbearably moved by his dejection, she evaded Joe’s outstretched arm, ignored his shouted reprimand, and went to take hold of the boy’s hands. ‘God be with you, lad,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I can’t call you by your given name. But I’m sure you’re known to God.’
He called to her as they reached the door. ‘Miss? My name. It’s Patrick. Can you find my mother and tell her how it is with me? Tell her they used me? Say I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused?’ Into their surprised silence he muttered: ‘She’s in Little James Street, number fifty-seven. Name of Dunne. They’d find out soon enough anyway. And I don’t want her waiting and wondering …’ He turned to the wall, sobbing.
Neither Sandilands nor Kent attempted to stop her when Lily walked back over to the boy, held his hand and waited for the storm of grief to subside. ‘My name’s Lily. I’ll see that your mother hears your message, Patrick.’
The duty staff gathered round the sergeant at the reception desk the moment the door swung to behind Sandilands and his assistant.
‘Cor, blast! What do we make of that then? Makes us look bloody fools! Especially you, Kent. How long were you working on that pair with nothing to show for it but an earful of Irish screaming and two false names? Miss waltzes in here and she’s got name and whereabouts out of one of ’em in …’ he looked at his pocket watch with heavy emphasis, ‘eight minutes flat. And now they’ve gone trotting off to pay a call on Mum! Won’t be long before they’ve rolled up the other one as well.’
His shoulders began to shake with laughter and his men took their lead from him, outrage turning to puzzlement and finally hilarity.
‘Well, look at it this way, sarge,’ offered one, ‘at least we got it done in house, so to speak. The lass is one of us if you think about it. This is her home nick. And we didn’t give way and hand the buggers over to Special Branch — if that’s who they were — when they came calling. We held the line. I reckon we can chalk this one up to the station.’
‘Right, Smithson. That’s how we’ll tell it, if anyone asks.’
‘Still — that’s a clever operator, sarge. Had you any idea?’
The sergeant looked thoughtful for a moment and said carefully: ‘Why is it everybody always coos over the monkey’s antics? When it’s the sodding organ-grinder they ought to be keeping their eye on?’