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Chapter Twenty-One

‘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.’

‘You’re going after Louisa, are you?’ Connie twisted about and hooted in amusement. ‘Weren’t so long ago you was scared witless of her.’

Sarah reddened but jutted her chin. ‘I was a kid then. Now I ain’t. I’m working me fingers to the bone full-time and I ain’t giving up all me wages to that old cow indoors so’s she can lay on the couch and swig from a bottle all day. It’s time you ‘n’ Louisa took a turn shellin’ out for her.’

‘Or what you going to do? Get your own place?’ Connie crowed. ‘Got enough put by from packing biscuits to set up on your own, have you?’

‘Yeah,’ Sarah lied. ‘I have. Me and Alice Keiver have been talking about it for a while. She’s had enough in hers and I’ve had a bellyful in ours. If you don’t give me a decent bit of cash to help out Mum’s getting left on her own.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Connie taunted. She knew that Sarah and Alice were close friends. They’d bunked together before when Sarah went to live at the Keivers’ for a while. Connie had got out of The Bunk and intended never to return. She was selfish enough to leave Sarah to deal with their mother, but she wasn’t heartless. Their mother might not survive long if abandoned in that fleapit. ‘You wouldn’t dare go off ‘n’ leave her on her own,’ she repeated, less chirpily.

‘Watch me,’ Sarah challenged. ‘You and Louisa have got away with blue murder long enough. You’ve both pissed off and not even lobbed half a crown my way to help out every so often. It’s you and Louisa’s in the wrong and you know it.’

‘How much d’you want?’ Connie grabbed up her bag from the sofa and scrabbled inside. She wanted her sister to go and leave her in peace so she could numb herself with a few more gins before Mr Lucas turned up and put her to work. A handful of silver was thrust towards Sarah.

‘That’s not enough.’ Sarah cast a withering look at Connie’s fistful of coins. ‘That’s taking the piss …’ She suddenly broke off as there came a loud knock.

‘That him?’ Sarah whispered, her eyes widening in alarm.

Connie’s panic was evident in the way her head had jerked towards the door. ‘It’s too early. Anyhow he’s got a key,’ she mouthed. She took a few hesitant steps down the hall then turned to hiss, ‘Stay there, out of sight, just in case …’

Sarah did as she was told but felt lightly amused. What was Connie expecting her to do if it was the old geezer? Hide behind the couch?

‘Gawd’s sake! What is this? Piccadilly Circus or something?’

That raucous complaint from Connie drew Sarah to the doorway of the sitting room. Her spirits plummeted as she saw her sister Louisa stomping over the threshold.

‘What you doing here?’ Louisa snarled at her over Connie’s silken shoulder.

‘Could ask you the same thing,’ Sarah flung back as her shapeless lump of a sister bore down on her. She went back into the sitting room, Louisa and Connie following close behind her.

Connie planted her manicured fingers on her slender hips and cast a frustrated look heavenward. ‘Two minutes … then if yers ain’t gone willing I’m calling downstairs and having yers thrown out.’

Now her slob of a sister’s odour was fouling the atmosphere the room seemed to have lost most of its gloss. Sarah was as keen to be gone as Connie was to be rid of her. But she wanted what she’d come for: a decent sum of money and a promise of more in the future. Considering the lifestyle Connie now had Sarah knew she’d be a mug to settle for less than a fiver today.

Connie must have got downwind of her fat sister too for she wrinkled her nose and wafted a hand in front of her face. ‘’Struth! How long since you had a bath, Lou?’

‘What’s she doing here?’ Louisa ignored the implication that she stank. Her greasy head jabbed forward to indicate Sarah.

‘She’s come for money and she wants some off you ‘n’ all. Ain’t that right, Sar?’ Connie elevated her plucked eyebrows, her expression mischievous. ‘She’s going to move in with Alice Keiver and leave Mum to fend for herself if we don’t chip in.’

If Connie had been expecting Louisa to immediately cut up rough she was to be disappointed. Louisa looked Sarah up and down. ‘You ‘n’ Alice in love?’

‘What?’ Sarah frowned in startled incomprehension.

‘She thinks you might be queer … like she is,’ Connie explained whilst picking at a frayed fingernail. She glanced up and snorted back a laugh. Sarah’s dawning comprehension was slowly transforming her youthful features in to a mask of utter revulsion. ‘Well, let’s face it, no bloke was ever going to fancy her, was he?’

‘Give us a fiver and I’ll get going. For now.’ Sarah extended a palm. She quickly moved towards the door.

‘Ain’t got a fiver.’

On hearing that both Sarah and Louisa cast on Connie an extremely old-fashioned look. All things considered it seemed like a blatant lie.

‘It’s true,’ Connie exclaimed. ‘I don’t have much money.’ She whirled a hand about at the lavish surroundings. ‘None of this is mine, is it? I have to get everything I want on his accounts; clothes, make-up, grub. Even the bleedin’ hair-dresser sends him in a bill. Don’t think he trusts me with me own money. He’s a tight fist with his cash.’

‘Thought he were a nice old stick.’ Sarah sarcastically reminded Connie of her recent praise for Mr Lucas.

‘He’s not bad as punters go,’ Louisa butted in. ‘Plenty worse’n him.’

‘How d’you know?’ Sarah demanded. Her eyes veered between her sisters. ‘How does she know?’ she asked Connie, bewildered. ‘You introduced her to Mr Lucas?’

A snort of mock horror erupted from Connie. ‘He ain’t never seen her, thank Gawd, but she knows punters alright. Her lady friend’s on the game up west.’

A sullen stare from Louisa met that sly dig at her love life and her employment as a pimp.

‘So what you after this time?’ Connie asked Louisa. ‘And if it’s money you can sod off along with her.’ She flicked her head at Sarah.

‘Want a decent dress ter borrer if you’ve got one going spare.’

Sarah stuffed a fist to her mouth to stifle her spontaneous hilarity. ‘You’ll never squeeze in Con’s dresses, you silly fat mare.’

‘Ain’t fer me, is it?’ Louisa snarled, her face contorting in rage and her fists clenching. ‘It’s for me friend, Sonia. She’s got a special on tonight and needs to look the part.’ Louisa knew that a ruckus in Connie’s lovely sitting room was out of the question. She visibly made an effort to control herself and turned her back on Sarah.

‘Sonia?’ Sarah echoed. Inwardly she digested that Sonia must be Louisa’s lady friend who tonight had a special punter to entertain.

Sarah hadn’t seen or heard from Louisa in many months. And that was the way she liked it. They might be sisters but Sarah was quite sure she hated the ugly slob. She’d been on the receiving end of most of Louisa’s bullying over the years. Connie was closer to Louisa in age and had been able to give back almost as good as she got. And that was encouraged in Bunk kids. It was their duty, as far as their parents were concerned, to stick up for themselves. It was especially true when family pride was at stake and they were expected to win scraps with neighbours’ kids. Children were often to be seen being dragged up or down the street by their elders to confront an opponent and settle an argument with their fists in full view of an appreciative audience. Louisa and Lenny, God rest his soul, had been their father’s pride and joy in that respect.

‘Give us the cash so’s I can get on me way,’ Sarah pleaded.

‘Christ’s sake! How times I got to say I don’t have a fiver!’ Connie automatically reached for her glass, forgetting it was empty. She banged it down on the table again in frustration. ‘Here! Have something to take down the pawnshop. But you’d better make sure it comes back sharp.’ She twisted about, eyes darting here and there, then snatched up a figurine from the mantelshelf and thrust it at Sarah.

Sarah contemptuously waggled the shepherdess in her hand. ‘That’s no good! How much is it worth?’ She studied the porcelain more carefully.

‘I dunno, do I?’ Connie fumed. ‘Well take this ‘n’ all! Just get lost before Mr Lucas turns up and kicks the lot of us out!’

Sarah stuffed the two ornaments into her bag. She could tell Connie was getting frantic and close to tears. Louisa was looking anxious too. They all wanted the same thing: Mr Lucas kept sweet for as long as possible, so he’d keep Connie for as long as possible, and they might all benefit from the randy old goat.

‘I’ll get you something out me wardrobe,’ Connie flung at Louisa. She whirled towards the bedroom door, knuckling her eyes. Before she disappeared she hissed over a shoulder, ‘Then get going and don’t come back here no more.’