The Ebenezer Papers Page 9

  A faint smile hovered on his lips. ‘That’s you all over, Liddy. You always did find something good in any situation.’

  ‘That’s because there often is something. Every time I go to the east end and see how people live there, I come home counting my blessings. I have a wonderful son, no money worries, two houses, some lovely friends, and I have my freedom back. What could I possibly have to complain about?’

  ‘I think that calls for a drink,’ Johnny said, opening a bottle of my best wine. 'Just remember, most men aren’t like Archie.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t seem to have the knack of telling one from the other.’

  'In that case, marry me,’ he urged with a grin. 'You know I’m not that kind of a guy.’

  I laughed, aware he was joking. 'You’ve gone all American again.’ I was very thirsty and drank the first glass of wine quickly, before saying, ‘Tell you what – instead of walking up the aisle let’s go and see the latest Astaire and Rogers film one evening in the week. It’s supposed to be good.’

  He didn’t answer at once, instead he took my glass, refilled it with wine, and as he handed it back to me he looked into my eyes almost, I thought, as if he was searching for something. Then he said, 'Sorry, Liddy. I can’t. I have a lot of evening work on this week.’

  'Oh?’ Disappointed, I said, 'Is it the Blackshirts again?’

  ‘Not this time.’

  'Then it’s this other job they’ve given you. The one you can’t talk about.’

  'That’s right.’ He changed the subject and we enjoyed what was a delectable lunch. The wine too was so delicious that I drank rather more than I meant to. If I hadn’t, I would never have badgered him as I did. And that was to change everything; although I didn’t know it then, or for quite some time afterwards.

  The food, exercise and fresh air soon sent Tim to sleep on the rug. When Johnny stretched out too, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, I plucked a long blade of grass and waggled the tip of it under his nose. At first he simply brushed it away, but when I kept doing it, he murmured good-naturedly, 'Pack it in, Liddy.’

  The wine had made me rather squiffy, to the point where every little thing I said seemed excruciatingly funny, and I burst out, ‘Not unless you pay a forfeit.’ A trick I’d often resorted to as a child.

  He opened one eye and murmured lazily, ‘Like what?’

  For a moment I couldn’t think of anything and then I remembered what he’d told me about his work. ‘I won’t stop until you tell me what this other job is. The really secret one.’

  'I can’t,’ he said sleepily. ‘You know that.’

  'Well, if you won’t tell me, I'll have to guess, won’t I.’ I tickled his cheek with the grass again. ‘Hmmmm. Now let me think.’ A statement that suddenly seemed so hilarious I start to giggle. 'Has a man landed from Mars?’ His lips twitched, but he didn’t speak. 'No? Does the King want you to be his personal bodyguard?’ He laughed and I jiggled the grass around his ear, and said the next ridiculous thing that came into my head. ‘I know what it is. There's a German spy in the secret service and----’

  He shot up and grabbed me by the shoulders, his face suddenly very pale. ‘Who told you that?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I stared at him in astonishment, his reaction sobering me somewhat. 'No-one told me, Johnny. I was joking.’ He let me go and I demanded, ‘Are you saying it’s true? There really is a German spy in the secret service?’ He didn’t speak, but his face gave me the answer. 'And you have to find him?’ I saw he didn’t know what to say and I went on, 'Don't worry, I won’t mention it to a soul. I’ve always been able to keep a secret. You know that.’

  ‘I do. But this is vital.’

  'Do you think I don’t realise that?’

  'Yes. Sorry, Liddy. What you said shook me.’

  I thought for a minute about what that work probably involved. 'Won't your colleagues realise what you’re doing?’

  He ran a hand through his hair. ‘God, I hope not. They’re all aware someone has been given the job of catching this spy, only they expect it to be a senior man. So far the information this traitor has passed to the Germans is minor stuff, but that won’t satisfy them for long, and we must catch him before he does some real damage. Officially I’ve been promoted, and I’m now one of several agents looking into the activities of the British Union of Fascists. As you know.’

  'If the Director’s chosen you for this job he must think very highly of you.’

  ‘I think it’s rather that with me being in America for the last three years, I’m the one person who can’t be the spy. The rumour that’s been put about is that we have a suspect. Hopefully that will make our man act in a way that will incriminate him. In truth, we have no idea who it is, only that secret information is definitely getting through to Berlin.’

  'What will happen to the man when you catch him?’

  'If I catch him, you mean. It’s treason, Liddy. He’ll be for the chop.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I ought to tell the Director that you know what I’m doing. If it got out it would ruin everything.’

  I took his hands and held them in mine. ‘Johnny, I swear I won’t say a word to a soul. I’ve had plenty of practice in keeping quiet. I’ve never told anyone what Archie was really like, except you, and you are the only one who will ever know.’

  'All right,’ he said somewhat unhappily. 'But if you should ever slip up, you will tell me, won’t you.’

  I promised to do so, and Johnny didn’t mention the spy again, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. If the traitor found out Johnny was the one trying to track him down, he’d be in great danger. The very thought made me shudder. I couldn’t bear to think of living my life without him being in it somewhere. He was the very best kind of friend, a man who would never let me down. Ever. When we were apart we wrote to each other, and he’d always been there if I needed help. Except when I found out what Archie was really like. Johnny was in America then, which forced me to stand on my own feet, and I’d got through the heartache by myself. Marriage to a man who didn’t love me, and who stopped considering my feelings the instant we left the church, made me grow up very quickly.

  Having dealt with that, I felt I could tackle any problem. I was no longer the rather naive girl Johnny knew when he went away. Trying to put the risks involved in Johnny’s work out of my mind, I said, ‘It’s great to have you back in London, Johnny. Once you’ve found this spy will you be staying here?’

  He hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t know. It depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether things go the way I want.’

  ‘Things always go the way you want,’ I said, teasing him.

  ‘Not always. Nobody is ever that lucky.’

  ‘You are,’ I retorted, laughing. And I began ticking off on my fingers the things he’d wanted in life, and got. I couldn’t recall him failing, ever. ‘You spent one summer running everywhere in order to win a race at school, you worked out how to ride that old penny farthing bicycle in our garage, and you went to Cambridge, although your father wanted you to go to his old college at Oxford. He hoped you’d join the family firm, but you didn’t, and.........’

  He held up his hands in mock surrender and grinned at me. ‘OK, I give in.’

  ‘By the way, how did you persuade him to let you go to Cambridge? I can remember him saying he’d never agree, yet a week or two later it was all settled.’

  ‘I simply explained my reasons calmly and he came round in the end. As for not joining the family firm – I’m not cut out to be a stockbroker. I’d be bored to death in a week.’

  ‘Yes, I believe you would. But why the secret service?’

  He gave a slight shrug. ‘I wanted to do something useful with my life. Stopping the Nazis getting a hold in Britain seemed like a good idea. Them, and anyone else who wants to destroy our way of life.’

  He didn’t often speak with such fervour, and probably wouldn’t have now if we hadn’t been al
one. But I wasn’t surprised by what he’d said, and my mind went back to this other thing he wanted. Overwhelmed with curiosity, I asked as casually as I could if it was something really special.

  ‘It is,’ he said. ‘Very special.’ I opened my mouth to ask what it was and he lifted a finger. ‘Don’t ask. I can’t tell you. I’m a spy, remember.’

  ‘Well – at least tell me when you’ll know.’

  ‘Oh --- soon.’

  ‘And you’d definitely stay in London then?’ He nodded and I prayed he would succeed. I couldn’t bear the thought of him going abroad again. ‘I hope you get what you want.’

  ‘So do I.’

  Thinking of what his current job involved, I asked, ‘Is it dangerous?

  ‘Dangerous?’ he echoed, and he laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’ He changed the subject then, and I didn’t mention it again that day.

  When we drew up outside my house again I thanked him for a perfect day. He took Tim’s paraphernalia out of the car and once Lang had carried it indoors, Tim and I stood on the pavement waving as Johnny drove off.

  On going inside I saw Connie was already taking charge of Tim’s things. ‘I’ll see to it,’ she offered. ‘I expect you’re tired after a day in the country.’

  ‘I am,’ I agreed with a smile and thanked her. Tim was excitedly telling her about the rabbits he’d seen when Monica burst into the hall. It was obvious she’d been crying. ‘What is it?’ I asked in trepidation.

  ‘It’s Daddy.’ And her voice broke on a sob. ‘The police have arrested him. They think he murdered Peter.’

  As Monica learned in the morning, the police had not actually arrested Mr. Taverner, but they had taken him in for questioning. He wasn’t released until after breakfast, and only after he’d agreed to surrender his passport and report to the police station every day. Clearly the police believed he was guilty but had no proof, and had let him out in the hope he’d panic and do something to give himself away.

  'He didn’t do it, Liddy,’ she said, her face pale and drawn. ‘You do believe that, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain he didn’t.’ Hearing the very real conviction in my voice she looked relieved. Mr. Taverner had given an undertaking to stay at his home in Berkeley Square, and I went with her to see him. We found him pacing up and down his drawing room, his emotions a mixture of anger, bewilderment and fear, as he explained what had happened. 'It seems I was overheard threatening to kill Crawley, and when I ......’

  Monica and I sat together on a sofa, and I broke in, ‘Did you threaten him?’

  ‘I was angry, Liddy,’ he said, as if that excused his behaviour. ‘I told him he’d never marry Monica. I swore I’d see him dead first,’ he whispered, running both hands through his thinning dark hair. 'But, for heaven’s sake – I didn’t mean it. Not literally. I offered him money -- a lot of money -- but he refused.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy,’ Monica’s mouth twisted in anguish. 'How could you?’

  'You needn’t worry. It didn’t work. I couldn’t make him see sense.’

  'Couldn’t get your own way, you mean,’ she blurted out painfully.

  Mr. Taverner sat down on the sofa opposite and put his head in his hands. 'Yes sweetheart, you're right. He was so calm, which made me even angrier, and you know what I’m like when I rant and rave. Only I never mean half of what I say.’

  'The police can’t have taken you in just for that,’ I insisted. 'What else did they say?’

  'You remember the figurine stolen from Crawley’s house?’ I nodded and he went on, ‘Well, it seems a man sold it to an antique dealer in Brighton. And the dealer recognised him from police photographs.’ So Inspector Nabber was right; he said the gunman would sell it. ‘Superintendent Burns showed me this photograph and asked if I knew the man. And.....’

  He seemed unable to carry on and I asked quietly, ‘Do you know him?’ He looked at Monica and then at me, and slowly nodded. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Charlie Jones. I’ve used him once or twice to collect bad debts.’

  'How did he come to have the figurine?’ Monica burst out.

  ‘I don’t know. Burns wouldn’t tell me. He said Crawley’s manservant confirmed it was the same figurine, and just kept on asking me questions about Jones. But I don’t know anything about him, except that he’s a debt collector -- a business acquaintance put me on to him. Burns wanted Charlie’s address, but I’ve no idea where he lives. I only contacted him through this friend.’

  'Won’t your friend tell you the address?’ I asked.

  'That’s the awful thing -- he can’t, he’s dead. Last month he fell down a flight of stone steps and broke his neck. And Burns doesn’t believe me, Liddy.’ His voice trembled with fear and disbelief that this could actually be happening to him. 'He said I must know how to contact Jones and that if I didn’t tell them it meant I had something to hide. But I haven’t. I haven’t,’ he repeated in increasing distress.

  ‘I know, Daddy.’ Monica jumped up and went over to him, and he clutched her hand like a drowning man, pulling her down to sit beside him.

  ‘I’m scared, Monica. I overheard Burns tell his Sergeant he was sick of the newspapers hounding him for not arresting anyone for Crawley’s murder. I think he means to pin it on me.’

  Surely, I thought, even Burns wouldn’t do that. 'This Charlie Jones,’ I said. ‘Tell me everything you know about him. Colour of hair, eyes, his age – anything.’

  Mr. Taverner took a deep breath. 'I didn’t notice his eyes, but he’s about thirty, weedy looking, with black hair, a thin moustache, and a face like a weasel. He’s quite well-spoken though -- I gather he’s the black sheep in an otherwise respectable middle class family. Lost all his money gambling, and took to debt collecting for businessmen. I’ve only used him twice. He was a funny bloke though.’

  ‘In what way?’ I enquired.

  ‘Well, he never wasted time talking. He simply asked what I wanted, and was back with the money the following day. He was polite and very efficient. I paid him in cash.’

  ‘Did you ask him how he got the debt paid?’

  'No.’ He looked at me in surprise. 'That was his business. I just wanted the money.’

  'Oh, Daddy, didn’t you stop to think,’ Monica burst out. 'He must have used a gun, or threatened the man’s family or something.’

  'Well, neither of them would pay.’ He lifted his palms upward in a gesture of helplessness, and protested, ‘What else was I supposed to do?’

  Now Mr. Taverner had to remain in London, his plans to spend the summer in the country were abandoned, and Monica moved back home that afternoon. 'He needs me, Liddy.’ She was right, of course, and being needed might take her mind off her own situation for a while. I helped her pack, and after she’d gone I went out into my courtyard garden, where I wandered around looking at the plants, which were mostly in pots, still thinking about Charlie Jones. He knew how to make people pay their debts. Probably with threats and guns, as Monica had said. The other thing was that Mr. Taverner’s description of Jones was almost identical to the one George Crawleigh's friends had given me of the policeman who’d called on them. They also said he was well spoken, polite, and didn’t waste time. Just like the man who’d killed Peter. How I wished I’d caught a glimpse of him that day.

  Yet, if he was, in Al's words, a hit man, that couldn’t be his sole occupation. Murders of that type were rare and the money wouldn’t keep him indefinitely. He’d stolen the figurine, no doubt recognising its worth, but if he was a gambler he would still need other, more regular, employment. Like collecting large unpaid debts for businessman. With menaces.

  I thought about the terrible mistake Charlie Jones had made, confusing Row and Road. Perhaps he’d received his instructions over the telephone; it would be easy to mishear under those circumstances. Even so, he’d checked he had the right victim by asking Peter his name. The odds against Peter living near to a man with a similar surname and address must be astronomical; yet the unbelie
vable did happen sometimes. And Jones had quickly rectified his mistake by causing George Crawleigh to crash his car into a tree. But who had paid Jones? And why? Was it to set Ginger Greene free? Was George Crawleigh really murdered to prevent this trivial case proceeding against Ginger? It didn’t make sense. But what other explanation was there?

  Now two men had to be found. Ginger. And Charlie Jones. Inspector Nabber would, I believed, search for both men, but he was still in France. Whereas Detective Superintendent Burns, as I soon saw from the evening paper, was only interested in finding Jones, and he’d decided to enlist the help of the public. As was usual with such appeals, the description of the wanted man was quite detailed.

  New Scotland Yard wishes to interview a man in connection with the murder of the fashion designer, Peter Crawley. Charles Jones, known as Charlie, is 29, five feet eight inches in height, with brylcreemed black hair parted down the middle. Slim in build with dark eyes, he has a narrow black moustache, thin lips, a sallow complexion with rather ugly features. He is known for using no more words than necessary and often appears to be in a hurry. Smartly dressed, with a cultured voice, he may be working as a debt collector. He is believed to be living in London, therefore landlords and landladies are particularly requested to check their lodgers. Anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of Charlie Jones, should telephone New Scotland Yard on Whitehall 1212, or go to their nearest police station.

  That kind of appeal had worked before, and I prayed it would now. Once arrested he would surely tell the police who had paid him to murder George Crawleigh, especially if it saved him from the gallows. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking that anyone who informed on Charlie Jones was not likely to live long.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Despite my concern for Mr. Taverner it was Johnny I thought of first when I woke the following morning. I prayed this job he wanted wasn’t dangerous. I hoped he’d remain in London, but I didn’t want him risking his life, as he must be now, trying to catch a traitor. Not that Johnny seemed concerned; he loved what he did, and wouldn’t change. One day his wife would have that worry, and selfishly, I prayed that day was a very long way off.