A loud noise from downstairs shattered her confidence. What had she heard and was it any kind of threat to her? Could it be that her husband had returned? She went out onto the landing and called his name. There was no answer and the house still felt empty. Draining the glass, she left it on the dressing table and was emboldened enough to go downstairs. It was her home. She ought to feel safe. The living room was empty and there was nobody in the front room. Caroline then went into the kitchen and was startled to see that the door had been forced open. As she moved forward, someone who’d been flattened against the wall came up behind her and put an arm around her throat and a hand over her mouth.
‘Do as you’re told,’ warned a voice. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
Caroline almost fainted. He’d come for her at last.
Harvey Marmion asked the driver to pull up around the corner. He and Joe Keedy then got out and split up so that they could enter from either end of the street where the Skene house was located. Someone was loitering immediately opposite it. When Marmion got closer, he saw that a man had simply been waiting while his dog relieved itself against the wheel of a car. The two of them moved off. Having come into the street at the opposite end, Keedy beckoned the inspector over to look at a horse and cart that stood in the shadows. Marmion let his torch play on the painted board at the rear of the vehicle. He read out the bold lettering.
‘Jack Dalley. Blacksmith. Bethnal Green.’
They were in the main bedroom now. Caroline was too terrified either to speak or move. She sat perched on the edge of the bed and his eyes ran hungrily over her.
‘I first saw you at Nora’s wedding,’ he explained. ‘You hardly noticed me but I never let you out of my sight. I found out everything I could about you and I started to watch. I know you better than your husband does, Caroline,’ he said with a snigger. ‘I saw what you did when his back was turned. You let Cyril Ablatt in one night and I watched the light come on in this bedroom. Why him?’ he cried. ‘Why bother with a mere boy when you could have had me? Well, no matter. You’re mine at last now. I’ve lived with a corpse for too long. I need a real woman.’
As he touched her shoulder, she recoiled. ‘Leave me alone — please.’
‘I’ve earned you,’ he said with a grin, ‘and you can’t refuse me, can you? If you do, I’ll tell your husband what you got up to with Ablatt. Then his father will know and so will everyone else in the family. Everyone will know what Caroline Skene does when she’s on heat like a bitch.’ Grabbing her by the hair, he stole a long, guzzled kiss. She turned away in disgust. ‘You’ll have to get used to that, my love. You’ll be seeing a lot of me on your husband’s club nights. I followed him there so I know where he goes and how long he’s away. That gives us plenty of time.’
He loomed over her and began to take off his coat. She was horrified.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asked, quailing. ‘You killed Cyril.’
‘Yes, I did,’ he boasted. ‘I wasn’t having him touching you anymore. It was my turn. I saw you walk to the corner with him that night. You didn’t even know I was there, sitting on the cart, did you? I had my chance and I took it. I drove round to the bus stop where he was standing and pretended that I had to take the cart to Jack’s house in Shoreditch. Ablatt recognised me from the forge,’ he went on. ‘When I offered him a lift, he couldn’t get on the cart quick enough. All that I had to do was to drive into a dark corner and murder the little bastard.’ She let out a scream. ‘I hid the body under some sacking and took it to Shoreditch at night.’ As she shrank back in disgust, he tried to justify it. ‘I did it for you, Caroline,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t you understand? I did it for you and me.’
Before she could stop him, he pushed her back on the bed and climbed on top of her. She was pinned down helplessly and his hands were all over her. Because he was thrusting his tongue into her mouth, she couldn’t even cry for help. When he lifted her skirt up to her waist, she felt as if she was about to die.
Then came the knock on the door.
Marmion knew that she was in the house and wondered why she didn’t answer his knock. When he looked upwards, he saw the curtains in the front bedroom twitch. He knocked for the second time but he could still hear nobody coming. As he looked through the letter box, he was able to see into the kitchen. The sight of the open door galvanised him into action. After signalling to Keedy, he ran down the side entry of the house and reached the kitchen door, pausing only long enough to note that it had been forced open. Rushing into the house, he looked up the stairs.
‘Are you up there, Mrs Skene?’ he asked.
Though there was no reply, he knew that she was there. Keeping the torch in his hand to use as a weapon, he thundered up the stairs and went into the main bedroom. Caroline was spreadeagled on the bed with her clothes dishevelled. Before he could ask her what had happened, Marmion was hit from behind by a jemmy. He collapsed on to the carpet.
Joe Keedy was waiting by the cart. The front door of the house was flung open and a figure came hurtling out. When he saw someone standing beside the cart, Percy Fry tried to scare him away by brandishing the jemmy but the man held his ground. It was a different encounter this time. Unlike the inspector, Keedy was not distracted by a woman on a bed. Instead of having his back to Fry, he was facing him. He crouched down in readiness to fight. Fry got close enough to recognise him as one of the detectives who’d called at the forge. Keedy couldn’t be frightened away. It was Fry who began to wilt. They were only yards apart now. Keedy held out a hand as if to take the weapon. Fry flew into a panic. He hurled the jemmy at Keedy but the latter ducked and it whistled harmlessly over his head.
Fry tried to run away but it was a race he was never going to win. He managed the best part of thirty yards before his legs began to hurt and his lungs seemed on the point of bursting. Every inch of the way, Keedy was gaining on him. As his quarry started to slow down, he put in a spurt that brought him close enough to jump on the man’s back. Fry staggered on for a few more yards but the extra burden was too much for him. He crashed to the ground and grazed his forehead in the fall. But he was far from finished. Fry was a strong man. Rolling over, he managed to dislodge Keedy with a fearsome punch. The sergeant replied with punches of his own but they seemed to have little effect. Fry had been toughened by years of working in a forge. When he caught Keedy with a hook, it made his head ring.
Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Fry attempted to get up and run off again but Keedy recovered instantly. He stuck out a leg and tripped his adversary up, diving on top of him and using his weight to pin him face down on the pavement. When Fry continued to buck, squirm, kick and turn the air blue with expletives, Keedy brought the fight to an end, holding the man’s head in both hands and banging it on the hard stone until Fry’s body lost all resistance. Handcuffs were speedily fixed to the prisoner’s wrists, then Keedy stood up and turned him over. Percy Fry lay twitching on the ground.
Marmion was still groggy as he came up behind them. He’d wrapped a towel around his head to stem the flow of blood. In the dark, it looked like a turban.
‘Are you going to arrest him, Joe?’ he asked. ‘Or shall I?’
They’d decided that the announcement had to be made when they were all together. It was therefore several days before their opportunity came. Marmion and Keedy, meanwhile, were praised in the press and Superintendent Chatfield got his share of reflected glory. Two heinous crimes had been solved in less than twenty-four hours. It was finally over. Events in the war returned to dominate the headlines. The inquest into the death of Cyril Ablatt came and went. The funeral took place, organised by Caroline Skene, whose name had been kept out of any of the reports of the case. Now in custody, Percy Fry would never admit that the murder arose out of his obsession for an attractive woman. All that he owned up to was killing someone he hated for being a conscientious objector. That was enough to satisfy the law.