‘It’s an interesting theory. What do you think, Inspector?’
‘It’s a line of inquiry that needs pursuing,’ said Marmion, ‘and I have men doing just that. But I still hold to the view that there’s a personal aspect to this case. Stein was murdered by someone who knew him and his routine at the shop. It was someone with an axe to grind, someone with a score to settle. Above all else, it was someone who knew where that safe was kept.’
‘That points to a present or former employee, then.’
‘We can discount the present ones, Sir Edward.’
‘What about former ones?’
‘There are two who’ve aroused our interest. One was middle-aged and left after a long time with the firm. The other was much younger and was — according to Mr Cohen, the manager — very angry at being dismissed. We’re urgently seeking both of them.’
‘You say that one was middle-aged, Inspector. Would this man have been physically capable of stabbing Mr Stein to death?’
‘Possibly not, Sir Edward.’
‘Then how can he be held culpable?’
‘Because he stage-managed it,’ said Marmion with growing certainty. ‘He knew the confusion that would be created by the attack on the shop and he hired someone to take full advantage of it. Jacob Stein was not killed accidentally, Sir Edward. His death was plotted and paid for in advance. In my opinion,’ he decided, ‘what confronts us is a bespoke murder.’
There had been a heady excitement when they first joined the army. They were treated as heroes by their families and friends. When they marched in uniform through the streets, they were cheered to the echo by large crowds. That was all in the past. There was no cheering now, only the distant boom and whizz of artillery. Oliver Cochran and John Gatliffe found a moment to have a cigarette together. They were camped with their regiment to the west of Ypres where hostilities were continuing apace. Gatliffe had seen some of the wounded British soldiers being stretchered from the front.
‘It turned my stomach, Ol,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Keep away from that field hospital unless you want to spew up your dinner. I saw men with arms and legs missing and others who’d been blinded. One was crying because they’d shot his bollocks off.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘I don’t know how the stretcher-bearers can do their job.’
‘We do far worse to the Germans,’ insisted Cochran.
‘It’s not what I expected at all.’
‘War is war, Gatty. We’re not here to play ping-pong.’
‘The noise never stops — and I hate that terrible stink in the air.’
‘You’ll get used to it.’
‘There was something else,’ said Gatliffe, ‘and it really scared me. They’re using poisonous gas, Ol. The Germans are attacking us with gas bombs.’
‘So? We’ll probably have gas masks to wear.’
‘I’d hate to be poisoned to death.’
‘Stop getting so upset, will you?’ said Cochran, irritably. ‘A fine bloody soldier you are — giving up before we’ve even started. We’ve already fought one battle at Ypres. That was last year and we won it.’
‘Yet look at how many thousands of our men were killed in the battle. And they were regular soldiers, blokes who’d fought in the Boer War and that. They were professionals, Ol. We’re just raw recruits.’
‘I’m not raw. I’m as good as any fucking Hun.’
Snatching up his rifle, he jabbed at an imaginary enemy then pulled out his bayonet before stabbing a second one. As he showed off his proficiency with rifle and bayonet, there was a zestful fury about Cochran that lifted his friend’s spirits. Gatliffe, too, picked up his weapon and went through some of the moves they’d learnt during bayonet drill. It felt good to have a rifle in his hands. Confidence returned. He looked forward to the time when he could fire at the enemy. With Cochran beside him, he was ready for the fight.
Tossing his cigarette butt to the ground, Cochran sliced it apart with a thrust of his bayonet. Like Gatliffe, he was having misgivings about his decision to join the army. While his friend was honest about his fears, however, Cochran suppressed his apprehension beneath a mixture of boasting and bravado. He would never show a hint of trepidation to Gatliffe because it would undermine his strong hold over his friend. Cochran was the acknowledged leader and he was determined to retain his leadership.
‘Know what, Ol?’ said Gatliffe. ‘You ought to be a corporal, even a sergeant.’
‘Nah!’ retorted Cochran with a sneer. ‘It’s a stupid idea.’
‘You’d be really good at it.’
‘NCOs are all wankers, especially the ones we’ve got.’
‘I could just see you with three stripes on your arm.’
‘You’re off your bleeding head, Gatty. There’s only one thing worse than being a sergeant and that’s being a fucking officer. Look at the idiots we got in command. You wouldn’t catch me mixing with silly sods like that. They all talk as if they got a plum in their gobs.’
Gatliffe scratched his head. ‘It was only a thought.’
‘Well, don’t bleeding think it again,’ said Cochran. ‘I’m where I want to be and I’ll stay right here, OK?’ A slow smile spread across his face. ‘If you want something to think about, remember what we did on that last night in London. She was an ugly little thing but she had a good body, I’ll give her that. I had a great ride on her and you could have done the same.’
Gatliffe was reflective. ‘I’m beginning to wish I had now.’
‘You got cold feet, Gatty, that’s your trouble.’
‘I was afraid that somebody would come and catch us.’
‘You didn’t want it enough, did you? Whereas I did,’ bragged Cochran, ‘and so I bloody well had it. That’s the thing about women. You got to grab them when you get the chance.’ His smirk broadened. ‘And there’s something special about virgins like her. It means I was the first. She’ll always remember me.’
Ruth Stein felt imprisoned in her own house. They never left her alone. When her mother was not watching her, she was kept under surveillance by her Uncle Herman or by a member of his family. She was not even allowed to sleep by herself. One of her cousins shared the same bedroom. Nobody ever mentioned her suicide attempt in so many words but it was neither forgotten nor forgiven. Everything they did was informed by it. At one and the same time, she was being punished for her crime and smothered by their collective love. It was agonising. Her father’s funeral was over now and they had entered a seven-day period of bereavement called shiva when Ruth and the other chief mourners did not leave the house. It all served to heighten her sense of incarceration. When she joined the others in the thrice-daily recitation of Kaddish, she could barely mumble the words.
Armed with their documentation, and carrying a pair of handcuffs apiece, Harvey Marmion and Joe Keedy took a train to Dover and boarded a ferry. Standing on deck, they were the only passengers not in uniform. Inevitably, Marmion thought about his son who had crossed to France with his regiment the previous year. Since then they’d only seen him once on leave. Paul Marmion’s letters from the front were eagerly seized on by every member of the family. They were not always comfortable reading. Joe Keedy had many friends who had enlisted in the army, several of them from the police force. But they were not in his thoughts at the moment. What interested him was the large number of horses on the vessel.
‘Is there still a place for a cavalry regiment?’ he wondered.
‘Somebody clearly thinks so, Joe,’ said Marmion.
‘I wouldn’t fancy charging at the German lines with nothing but a lance or a sabre. The enemy have got machine guns and rifles. What use are horses when bullets are flying about?’
‘They get our soldiers to the point of attack much quicker. It’s one of the things Paul is always complaining about — how painfully slow you are, trying to run across a field with mud up to your ankles.’