Hardcastle's Traitors (3 page)

‘But what did you see, Mr Partridge?' prompted Hardcastle somewhat tetchily, fearing that the outfitter was on the point of embarking on a lengthy monologue about air raids and curtains.

‘Well, like I was saying, I happened to look out of the window and I saw these two men – rough-looking blokes they was – come out of Reuben's shop and jump into a motor car. Then they drove off like the hounds of hell were on their tail. I was pretty sure something had happened, so I opened the window and yelled “Police”, and the officer on the beat came running.'

‘Do you know what sort of car it was, Mr Partridge?' asked Marriott.

‘I don't know much about cars.' Partridge paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘But I think the one I saw is called a tourer. It was an open car, but it had a hood that was up; one of those canvas things. Oh, and it had them white tyres.'

‘White tyres?' queried Marriott, looking up from his pocketbook.

‘Yes, like they have on American cars. You know the sort of thing: painted white round the sides.'

‘D'you think it
was
an American car?' asked Hardcastle.

‘I don't know, sir. I was watching the two men rather than the car.'

‘Motor cars have a number on them. Did you happen to see it?' asked Marriott.

‘No, I'm sorry, sir. I never thought of that.'

‘What did these men look like?'

‘I'm afraid I didn't get a good look at them, what with the street lights being out because of the war. But like I said, they seemed to be rough-looking characters, and they were only wearing jackets and trousers as far as I could see. No overcoats.' Again Partridge paused. ‘On the other hand, I think one of 'em had one of them reefer jackets on. And they had something round the bottom half of their faces, a scarf possibly. Oh, and they both had cloth caps on, pulled well down over their eyes.'

‘Had you heard anything before you saw these men running away?' asked Hardcastle. ‘The sound of someone breaking in, for instance? Or voices?'

‘No. As I said, the wife and me had been having a drink and chatting just before I crossed to check on the curtains, and that the windows were closed on account of the air raid.'

Hardcastle failed to see the logic of that, but made no comment in case Partridge returned to the subject of air raids and curtains again. ‘Thank you, Mr Partridge,' he said. ‘You've been a great help. I'll have an officer call round later in the day to take a written statement from you. Unless you're prepared to make one now.'

‘Yes, why not, sir? I doubt I'll get much sleep tonight. But at least I'll have a half-day today, it being a Saturday.'

‘Get one of those two officers up here to take a statement from Mr Partridge, Marriott,' said Hardcastle. ‘And make it Watkins rather than Catto.'

‘Yes, sir.' In Marriott's view Catto was a good detective and he could never understand why the DDI did not share that opinion. But it was probably because Catto appeared to lose his self-confidence whenever he was in Hardcastle's presence.

Returning to Reuben Gosling's shop, Marriott dispatched Watkins to take Partridge's statement and then he and Hardcastle began to look around.

‘There's quite a lot of blood on this showcase, Marriott,' said Hardcastle. ‘It's likely that one of our villains cut himself on the broken glass. And that might mean he wasn't wearing gloves at the time. Be a good idea to get Mr Collins down here to see if he can find any useful fingerprints.'

Detective Inspector Charles Stockley Collins was head of the Fingerprint Bureau at Scotland Yard and the comparatively new science of fingerprints had helped to apprehend numerous criminals during the last ten years. Such evidence had first been accepted by the courts in 1905 when the Stratton brothers were convicted of murdering a Deptford oil-shop keeper and his wife.

The door to Gosling's shop crashed open and the tall impressive figure of Dr Bernard Spilsbury, attired in full evening dress, stood on the threshold.

‘Good evening, my dear Hardcastle. I understand you have a cadaver for me. Ah, yes, I see it.' Spilsbury glanced at the dead body of Reuben Gosling and rubbed his hands together.

‘Indeed I do, Doctor,' said Hardcastle. ‘But it looks as though we've interrupted your celebrations.'

‘Think nothing of it, my dear fellow,' said Spilsbury, handing his Gladstone bag, top hat, cape, and cane to DC Catto. ‘My wife Edith invited all manner of boring people to dinner to celebrate the New Year. To tell the truth, I was delighted to escape.' Although only thirty-eight years of age, Spilsbury was the foremost forensic pathologist of the period. His evidence at the trial of Hawley Harvey Crippen and Ethel Le Neve in 1910 first brought him to the notice of the public, and whenever he now appeared at the Old Bailey to give evidence, the public gallery was usually full if not overflowing. And six months ago, in the case of the Brides-in-the-Bath murders, he was able to demonstrate precisely how George Joseph Smith had killed his three victims, thus negating defence counsel's suggestion of accidental death by drowning.

‘There's a bloodstained sash weight over here that I found earlier, sir,' said Catto. ‘It had rolled underneath that cupboard,' he added, pointing at a wooden cabinet adjacent to the counter.

‘Well done, Constable,' said Spilsbury. ‘You've got a sharp-eyed man there, Hardcastle.'

‘Sometimes,' muttered the DDI.

Spilsbury knelt down to examine the body of Reuben Gosling. ‘It was undoubtedly the blow to the head that did for him,' he said, turning his head to address Hardcastle. He pulled an envelope from his inside pocket and rested it on the floor. Using a silver propelling pencil, he made a few notes. ‘Well, that's all I can do for the time being.' He stood up and brushed the knees of his trousers.

‘There's a blood stain on one of the showcases, Doctor,' said Hardcastle. ‘I was wondering if it belongs to one of our killers.'

‘I'll take a sample and analyse it for you,' said Spilsbury. Taking the necessary equipment from his bag, he scraped a little of the blood on to a slide and placed it in a small glass jar. ‘Get the cadaver to St Mary's at Paddington, Hardcastle, there's a good chap, and a prosperous New Year to you and your good lady.'

‘And to you, Doctor.' Hardcastle crossed the shop and opened the door. ‘Catto, the doctor's hat and cane. Quickly now.'

‘Yes, sir.' Catto handed the items over and half bowed.

‘Well, here's a pretty kettle of fish, Marriott,' said Hardcastle, sitting down on one of the bentwood chairs that were provided for Gosling's customers. ‘A couple of burglars who use a car to get away from the scene of their crime. I don't know what the world's coming to.'

‘It looks as though they used the air raid to cover the burglary, sir,' suggested Marriott.

‘Just what I was thinking, Marriott,' said Hardcastle, who had not thought of it until Marriott had mentioned it. ‘And you know what that means, don't you? It means that they're probably local. I doubt that anyone would come from out of town on the off chance there was going to be a raid.'

‘It might've been a coincidence, sir,' suggested Marriott, changing his mind. But before Hardcastle was able to reply, Watkins reappeared.

‘I've got Mr Partridge's statement, sir.'

‘I should hope you have, lad. That's what I sent you up there for. Has he said any more than he told me, I wonder.' Hardcastle took the statement and glanced through it. ‘Not much good, really, Marriott. He saw a car he couldn't identify, and the description of the two men he saw could've been any one of a hundred.' He handed the statement back to Watkins. ‘Catto, get hold of a paper bag and wrap up that sash weight. We might get lucky if Mr Collins can find some prints on it.'

‘Where can I get a paper bag, sir?' asked Catto.

‘You're a detective, Catto, find one, and don't bother me.' Hardcastle turned back to Marriott. ‘Now all that's left for us to do is to get the body up to Dr Spilsbury's room at St Mary's.'

‘There's a telephone here, sir. I'll get on to the nick to send a van.'

‘Oh, that thing,' muttered Hardcastle dismissively. In common with his contemporaries, he regarded the telephone as a newfangled device that, like many other innovations introduced by the hierarchy at Scotland Yard, would not last. ‘And while you're about it speak to Rochester Row and tell them to send a couple of constables to relieve Catto and Watkins and guard this place until it's properly secured.' He glanced at the empty showcases. ‘Not that there's much left to nick.'

Marriott returned minutes later. ‘Van's on its way, sir,' he said, having completed his call.

‘Good. Catto, I want you and Watkins to secure the premises and wait until the uniforms get here to keep an eye on it. Then the pair of you can escort the body to St Mary's. When you've done that I want the pair of you to get round the local hospitals.'

‘What for, sir?' Catto visualized not seeing his bed again until that evening.

‘Good God, man, to see if anyone, like one of our murderers, has turned up with a cut hand,' said Hardcastle impatiently. ‘If he has, find out who is he and where he is. You got that, Catto?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Good. And when you've done that, call on all the local pawnbrokers and jewellers and see if anyone's tried to unload any bent tom.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Catto.

‘We'll come back here later today, Marriott,' said Hardcastle, ‘and have a look round when there's more light.'

‘I'll arrange for Mr Collins to be here as well, sir.'

Hardcastle and Marriott stepped into the street and were fortunate enough to sight a cab immediately, despite it being New Year's Day.

‘Scotland Yard, cabbie,' said Hardcastle, and turning to Marriott, added, ‘Tell 'em Cannon Row and half the time you'll finish up at Cannon Street in the City.'

‘So I believe, sir,' said Marriott, sighing inwardly. It was a piece of advice he received every time he and Hardcastle returned to their police station by taxi.

‘A
ll correct, sir.' Surprised at the unexpected arrival of the DDI so early in the morning of New Year's Day, the station officer stood up so quickly that he caught his knee on the underside of his desk.

‘That's a matter of opinion, Skip.' Hardcastle was always irritated by the requirement for such a report to be made to a senior officer, whether everything was all correct or not. ‘Anything happening I should know about? Apart from a murder in Vauxhall Bridge Road,' he added wryly.

‘We've had a fair few arrests off of Trafalgar Square, sir, even though there was an air raid on. The cells here is full to overflowing and Inspector Joplin's still taking the charges. And I heard tell there's just as many off of Piccadilly Circus up at Vine Street nick an' all. We've got a couple of pickpockets in, but for the most part it's young gents what'd had more champagne than was good for 'em while they was celebrating the New Year. Two of 'em had their collars felt for nicking a copper's helmet.'

‘Spoilt toffs like that should be in the bloody army.' Hardcastle glanced through the glass panel into a charge room crowded with drunken young blades attired in full evening dress. ‘Still, they'll be in the trenches once Lord Derby's caught up with 'em.'

Once in his office, Hardcastle took the unusual step of inviting Marriott to take a seat. ‘Well, m'boy,' he said, lapsing into a rare informality, ‘I don't suppose you and Mrs Marriott had much time to celebrate the New Year before you got called out.' He took a bottle of Scotch and two glasses from a drawer in his desk and poured a substantial amount into each.

‘Your good health, guv'nor, and a Happy New Year to you and Mrs H,' said Marriott, following his chief's familiarity of address, and took a swig of whisky.

‘And to you and Mrs Marriott,' said Hardcastle, taking a sip of his Scotch. ‘Now, m'boy,' he continued thoughtfully, placing his glass in the centre of the blotter, ‘we've got to work out how we're going to catch two murdering tealeaves who've taken to using a motor car to get away from the scene of their crime.' Taking out his pipe, he began to fill it with his favourite St Bruno tobacco. ‘These young villains have got no respect for the law, that's the trouble. If things go on like this the police will have to get some motor cars of their own to chase 'em with.' He chuckled at such a preposterous idea. ‘Which reminds me,' he continued, ‘we'd better find out what we can about the car that Partridge saw them driving off in.'

‘Bit of a long shot, sir, given that we don't have a description of it.'

‘Ah, but we do …' Hardcastle paused to light his pipe. ‘According to Partridge it was an open tourer with a hood and white-sided tyres. There can't be too many of them about. That'll do for a start. Best send a message to all stations just in case they're wide enough awake to have seen a car with tyres what's painted white.' But by the tone of his voice it was apparent to Marriott that the DDI held out little hope for achieving such a profitable result.

‘I'll get on to it, immediately, guv'nor,' said Marriott, and returned to his office where he spent ten minutes drafting a message about the car that Sidney Partridge had seen. He took it downstairs to the constable responsible for sending teleprinter messages and stood over him while he transmitted it to all the stations in the Metropolitan Police District.

It was getting on for ten o'clock that morning when Hardcastle and Marriott returned to Reuben Gosling's shop in Vauxhall Bridge Road.

‘All correct, sir.' The policeman posted at the premises drew himself to attention and saluted.

‘I should hope so, lad,' muttered Hardcastle, but as he and Marriott were about to enter the shop the DDI was approached by a man in a shabby raincoat and a soft felt hat. Accompanying him was a younger man carrying a box camera with a flash attachment and a tripod.