The Fight for Lizzie Flowers (30 page)

When they arrived at the school, Lizzie looked at her sad friend. ‘I’ll just fetch Polly and then I’ll drive you home.’

‘How am I going to tell the kids?’ Ethel gulped.

‘Me and Polly will be with you if that’s what you want.’

‘What about the shop?’

‘Bert and Fowler will take care of that.’

‘Only this morning Richard was alive. He asked for cheese sandwiches, cut thin.’

‘Stop tormenting yourself.’

‘I feel a bad person. But I didn’t mean to be.’

‘You’re not bad, Ethel. None of us sets out to be bad. Things happen that we don’t plan for, that’s all.’

Ethel fought back the tears. ‘I’ll have to tell Mum and Dad.’

‘Lil and Doug will stand by you.’

‘They don’t even know about the baby.’ Ethel stifled a sob. ‘And there’s Mrs Ryde. Richard is –
was
– the light of her life. How is she going
to take it when the police go round and tell her she’s lost her only son?’

‘Has she got any other family?’

Ethel nodded. ‘A sister who lives in the next road.’

‘Well, then, she’ll have someone to be with her.’

‘I should go over to Lewisham.’

‘You’ve got to put the children first.’

Ethel had shed so many tears, she just stared into space.

Lizzie opened the door and climbed out, running across the playground as she knew she was very late. She dashed in and found Mrs Price sitting with Polly on one of the school’s wooden
benches. They both stood up when they saw Lizzie.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Lizzie said as Polly flung herself into her arms.

‘Where have you been?’ Polly asked anxiously.

‘I’m afraid there was an accident.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Mrs Price said, but, smiling at Polly, she added, ‘There you are, Polly. I told you it must be something important to delay your aunt.’ Mrs Price looked at
Lizzie in concern. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Flowers?’

‘Yes, but I was worried about Polly. Thank you for looking after her for me.’

‘I was going to bring her to the shop. I thought it might be – well, a family upset.’

Lizzie knew Mrs Price was discreet enough not to name Frank who had been the usual source of trouble. ‘My friend’s husband was knocked off his bicycle and unfortunately
killed,’ she explained.

‘Oh, how dreadful!’

‘A few of us were witnesses and had to wait for the police to take our statements.’

‘That’s quite understandable,’ Mrs Price agreed and patted Polly on the head. ‘Off you go now. See you on Monday. And please take care of yourselves.’

‘Who was it that was killed, Auntie Lizzie?’ Polly asked as they walked across the playground.

Lizzie bent down to her niece. ‘I’m afraid it was Auntie Ethel’s husband, Rosie and Timothy’s dad.’

Polly frowned as she looked into Lizzie’s eyes. ‘What was his name?’

‘Richard.’

‘What happened to his bike?’

‘It was taken away.’

Polly nodded. ‘I ain’t never seen him with Rosie and Timothy. Will they be sad?’

‘Yes, they will.’

‘Is Auntie Ethel sad?’

‘Yes, of course. She’s sitting in the van over there. Perhaps we can help to cheer her up.’

‘I can tell her that he’s gone to heaven to be with Jesus,’ Polly said slowly. ‘Cos that’s what Mrs Price says at school.’

As Lizzie took Polly’s hand and they walked out of the playground, she thought sadly of the man who had never really shared a closeness with his family. He rarely attended the school
functions; it had always been Ethel who supported Timothy’s football matches and the nativity plays at Christmas. He had always put his duties as a son first, as though he was still a
schoolboy himself. Ethel had always remarked that she felt more like a second mother to him than a wife. He certainly shied away from Lil and Doug and only saw them when they went over at Christmas
for Boxing Day tea. But all the same, he was Rosie and Timothy’s father and there would be many tears shed in the Ryde household tonight.

‘Hello, Auntie Ethel,’ Polly said in a whisper, sliding her arms around Ethel’s neck.

Ethel hugged her close. ‘I’m sorry we were late.’

‘Don’t matter. Did you know that everyone becomes an angel when they die?’

Lizzie saw the tears rush to Ethel’s eyes. She knew they were tears of regret and guilt. But Ethel was going to have to live with what had happened and come to terms with the fact that
life just had to go on.

‘So we meet again,’ the detective said, parading around the garage floor and studying the vehicles. ‘Though it ain’t much of a surprise,’ he
added, shrugging his shoulders under his shapeless jacket. ‘As you and me have unfinished business.’

‘What business is that?’ Danny shifted his weight as he leaned casually against the chassis of the truck.

‘Unresolved business.’ Detective Inspector Bray bared his brown teeth.

‘If you say so.’

‘This place all yours?’

‘Bought and paid for,’ Danny replied. ‘And in case you’re wondering, I’ve documentation to prove it.’

‘Where did the money come from?’

‘Hard work, lots of it,’ Danny answered, refusing to take the bait that Bray was dangling in front of him. Danny walked slowly over to the Port of London Authority lorry just inside
the double doors. He’d given his statement to the police who came that afternoon, confirming Ethel’s story that Richard had come to the garage to buy a car. That seemed to satisfy the
cops, and he’d hoped that, at least for today, there would be an end to the interrogations. It was now down to the law to find the driver who was responsible for Richard’s death. But to
Danny’s dismay, just as he was about to lock up, Bray had arrived.

The policeman strolled to the open doors where he nodded to the forecourt beyond. ‘Funny how there’s a mystery around you,’ Bray murmured as he stared at the view. ‘A man
is killed here today. And nobody knows anything. You sure you didn’t recognize the vehicle?’

‘No,’ said Danny flatly, ‘I told the other coppers that.’

‘So there was just you and your pal and the two women as witnesses?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Tell me what happened again. Yes, I know you’ve given a statement, but I’d like to hear your version, if you don’t mind.’

Danny frowned, sighing in resignation. ‘We saw this motor in the distance. It drove across the forecourt, picked up speed and collided with the bike. Richard was thrown into the air. He
didn’t stand a chance.’

‘So who was to blame?’

‘It’s your job to work that one out.’

Bray spat the tobacco from his teeth. ‘There’s glass out there. The windscreen must have broken. So maybe you saw who was driving?’

‘I told you, I didn’t clock anyone,’ Danny replied, smothering the urge to tell Bray to go to hell. But he mustn’t lose his temper. Bray was hoping for that.

‘So how did the grieving widow take it?’ Bray asked callously. ‘Her old man being run over in front of her eyes?’

‘How do you think?’

‘She have any idea who it was?’

‘None of us have.’

‘So this Mrs Ryde was brought over here by your – er . . .’ Bray coughed, raising his eyebrows mockingly. ‘Your
friend
, Mrs Flowers?’

Danny was too angry to speak. He’d understood the innuendo, but he wasn’t going to react.

‘You say you knew the deceased?’ Bray continued smoothly.

‘I first met Richard years ago.’ Danny shrugged. ‘Before I went to Australia.’

‘When was that?’

‘1921,’ Danny snapped. ‘But you have that down on file from when you was trying to pin Duncan King’s death on me.’

Bray leered, wagging his index finger in Danny’s face. ‘There’s still time for a collar, old son.’

Danny stared levelly into Bray’s ugly face. ‘What’s all this got to do with you anyway? The Poplar bobbies are handling it. You’re Limehouse nick. This ain’t your
turf’

Bray waved his hand. ‘I’m always interested in you, Mr Flowers. You was one of my very first cases at Limehouse. Call it a bit of good old-fashioned nostalgia if you like.’

‘Well, the sentiment ain’t returned,’ Danny replied shortly. ‘Now, if you’ve finished, I’m about to shut up shop.’

‘Don’t mind me having a butcher’s around the place first?’ Bray replied, swaggering off towards the vehicles parked at the rear of the garage.

Danny’s blue eyes darkened as the copper began to study each motor in turn, making a meal out of the inspection. After a few minutes, Danny couldn’t bring himself to watch and walked
slowly out into the evening air.

It was a perfect summer’s night. The sun was a pale globe of scarlet, slowly disappearing behind a curtain of silvery mist. There were noises over the dock wall, the river men on their way
up to the estuary and the barges tying up at the wharf walls. He took out his tobacco and stood with his eyes fixed on the place where Richard had been killed. The car that had hit him had jammed
on its brakes too late. Richard hadn’t stood a chance.

Poor Ethel. He only hoped she could keep her nerve and stick to the story she’d given the coppers.

And who was the coward who’d snuffed out a life without stopping? As he smoked, his eyes began to adjust to the twilight. Browned tufts of grass and weeds along the dock walls cast long
shadows. The gravel half-acre where the car had skidded to a halt and thrown Richard into the air looked eerily lonely.

‘So you’re claiming this death was an accident?’ Bray said, bringing Danny back with a sharp jolt as he arrived at his side.

‘I’m saying it’s your job to find out.’

‘You knew this bloke and suddenly he’s brown bread right outside your gaff. You don’t think your story’s a bit iffy?’

Danny shrugged. ‘That’s what you said before.’

‘And I’m saying it again.’

Danny smiled tightly. ‘You’re the copper. It’s your job to make the deductions, not a blockhead like me.’ Squaring his shoulders, he walked back to the big doors and
began to pull them across.

‘That’s not an answer,’ Bray shouted.

‘It’s all you’re going to get.’

With narrowed eyes, the policeman stood watching. ‘I’ll work it out, you know. I’ll find out why that poor sod died here. And who did it.’

Danny nodded slowly. ‘Be sure to let me know when you do.’

Bray threw his half-smoked cigarette at Danny’s feet. Without saying more, he turned and walked across the forecourt, pausing briefly at the glittering shards of bloodied glass on the
gravel.

Frank Flowers hobbled into the shop and balanced his stick against the new glass cabinet full of fresh stock. Lizzie had left the prices written on a list by the till; he
couldn’t go far wrong. Slowly he reached for the leather apron, his fingers fumbling to tie its strings. He was managing better now, though the smallest of careless movements triggered an
agonizing back pain. His ribs had mended and so had his shoulder, though there was still a swelling on his chest. He didn’t mind that. He was lucky the entry point of the knife had been above
his heart. He had a lot to be grateful for, as Lizzie reminded him every day. She kept on at him to exercise, but she didn’t really know how much pain he was in. And when the pain came, so
did the voices. He hadn’t told her that. He didn’t want to land back up in the loony bin.

‘You all right, Frank?’

It was Fowler, arriving with his usual lack of charm, almost swallowing his roll-up in his haste to drag in the nicotine. But all in all, he wasn’t a bad bloke, Frank thought. And far be
it from him to wish Elmo and Fowler away. He was all for keeping them close. There were forces out there that were still gunning for him. He was convinced of that. Ever since that night at the
hospital, he’d been taunted by the knowledge that, since they hadn’t finished him off, they would return to complete the job. But he knew that as long as he had people around him they
wouldn’t attack. They preferred dark and lonely places to carry out their dirty work. His voices warned him of that. And he believed them. ‘Me back is giving me a bit of gyp,’
Frank replied with a shrug.

‘Then leave all the lugging to me,’ Fowler told him, puffing smoke into Frank’s eyes as he tied his long hair behind his head with string. One of Fowler’s dark, close-set
eyes, Frank noticed, had a slight cast to it. It made Frank want to look over his shoulder to see if there was anyone behind him. But he’d done that before and there never was. Still, as
Fowler stood at least a foot and a half above him and was wider even than Bert, Frank always felt safe in his company.

‘Thanks, mate,’ Frank agreed readily. It was his first day in the shop and he wasn’t sure he liked it. The two customers he’d served had given him the cold shoulder. No
doubt they recalled the old Frank Flowers who’d tried to blow this place sky-high. But, as long as he stayed on his pills, he could crack this. He had a bundle to make up to Lizzie and his
dad. And Danny of course. Though he didn’t hold out much hope in that direction.

‘You ain’t going to the funeral, then?’ Fowler asked as he began to roll up his shirtsleeves. Frank enjoyed watching the muscle protrude from his arms and the animal strength
of his physique. With Fowler around, he didn’t have any worries. Or at least, not as many as he would have had if he was alone and back in his rooms in Poplar. The one drawback was that
he’d not been able to get himself another shooter. This was the East End. Lizzie was a lone woman, in a tough business. Every trader had hardware stored under the counter. Dad’s
revolver had looked the business even if it hadn’t been used in years. Now, thanks to Danny and Bert chucking it in the Thames, he didn’t even have that.

‘Didn’t know the bloke very well,’ Frank replied, relieved that at last, almost three weeks after Richard Ryde’s death, the poor sod was being laid to rest. The coppers
had called round the shop once or twice to speak to Lizzie. He’d been worried they’d nose around. Not that they’d find anything. Not anything incriminating anyway. Danny had got
rid of the bloodstains, done a good job in fact. There was nothing to connect Frank with the dead geezer. There had been no noises about stiffs washing up in the docks either. He’d scoured
the newspaper every day. There was nothing, but the cops’ presence had made him uneasy.