He passed on the description given to him of Horrie Waldron then offered his assessment of the baker. Keedy had already told him about the visit to Hambridge’s house and how the carpenter was devastated by the news. Unable to make contact with Mansel Price, the sergeant had left a message for him at his digs.
‘We can be sure of one thing,’ said Marmion. ‘All three of his friends relied completely on Ablatt. How will his death affect their resolve? Or, to put it another way, how conscientious will their objections be now that he’s gone?’
‘Hambridge is a Quaker. It won’t change his mind.’
‘I’m less certain about Leach. He could waver.’
‘Apparently, Price is one of those characters who hates all authority.’
‘So do I when it’s in the hands of someone like the superintendent.’
Keedy chuckled. ‘Did you get another rap over the knuckles from Chat?’
‘He wanted Waldron arrested and hauled into Scotland Yard.’
‘But we have nothing on him yet.’
‘According to Superintendent Chatfield, we do. We have a man with motive and means to kill Ablatt. We simply have to establish that he had the opportunity as well and we can charge him.’
‘It’s another of Chat’s barmy theories.’
‘In fairness,’ conceded Marmion, ‘they’re not always so barmy. He made some very significant arrests during his time as an inspector. However, it’s an open question as to whether that was luck or judgement. We’ll have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Finish your tea,’ he went on, standing up. ‘We have people to see and answers to get.’
‘Right,’ said Keedy, swallowing the last of his tea then leaping to his feet. ‘I’m ready, Harv. Will you give me a lift to the cemetery?’
‘Of course — and we must arrange a place to meet up afterwards.’
‘Where do we go then?’
‘We need to speak to a certain photographer.’
They left the canteen and walked side by side along the corridor. All that lay ahead of them was the promise of hard work, much of which would be tedious and unrewarding. Yet they felt excited in a way that they always did at the start of a hunt for a killer. Keedy recalled what the inspector had said earlier.
‘Why do you think Leach will waver?’ he asked.
‘I don’t doubt the sincerity of his pacifism,’ said Marmion, ‘and he won’t renounce that. But I sensed a weakness. He’s engaged to be married. He has to make decisions that involve two people. That could make things a lot trickier.’
Leach’s head was pounding. So much had happened in the space of a couple of hours that he was confused and fearful. He’d awoken with a sense of dread, then been told what Hambridge had learnt about a gruesome murder during the night. Leach felt certain that it had to be his friend. A Scotland Yard detective had confirmed the name of the victim and questioned him about his contact with Ablatt the previous day. It had left the baker completely jangled. He’d pleaded with his father to be released from his duties at the shop and, since he’d finished his delivery rounds, he was allowed to leave. Leach had arranged to meet Ruby Cosgrove that evening but he couldn’t contain himself that long. As a matter of urgency, he needed to speak to her now. She had to be told.
His fiancee had responded to the appeal for help in the war effort by working in a small factory that produced tinned meat to be sent to British soldiers in the trenches. It was boring, repetitive, undemanding labour but it gave her the feeling that she was making a contribution. Ruby worked set hours. Leach knew that during her lunch break she usually popped out of the factory to escape the pandemonium, get some fresh air and enjoy a cigarette.
When he got to the factory, he saw her lurking in a doorway with some of the other female employees. Even though she was wearing an ugly fawn overall and a fawn scarf, the mere sight of Ruby Cosgrove lifted his spirits. Spotting him, the other women nudged Ruby and giggled. One of them whispered something in her ear and she blushed. By the time he got to them, Leach was out of breath.
‘What are you doing here, Gordon?’ she asked in surprise.
Unable to find the words at first, he gave the other women such a look of desperation that they took pity on him and moved away so that the couple could talk alone. He led Ruby to a low wall and made her sit down.
‘I had to come,’ he said, lowering himself down beside her.
‘Whatever’s the matter with you? You’re trembling.’
‘There’s something I must tell you, Ruby.’
‘Well, be quick about it,’ she said. ‘The hooter will go in a minute.’
He looked into her face and realised why he loved her so much. Ruby had an exaggerated prettiness that had captivated him when he first met her and a way of jiggling her head about as she spoke that he found entrancing. He didn’t mind that she was rather plump. If anything, it added to her attraction, the large bust swelling under her overall, the generous thighs and wide hips enlarging her contours. He hated having to pass on such tragic news but he could hold it in no longer. Taking her by the shoulders, he inhaled deeply.
‘Something terrible has happened,’ he said.
She tensed. ‘What is it?’
‘Cyril is dead.’
‘No!’ she exclaimed, palms slapping against her chubby cheeks. ‘I don’t believe it. Tell me it’s not true, Gordon. Tell me it’s some kind of joke.’
‘I swear that it’s true — and there’s worse to come.’
‘What could possibly be worse than that?’
Tears now streamed down his face. ‘He was murdered, Ruby. A detective came to the bakery to tell me. While we were all waiting for him at Fred’s house, Cyril was battered to death.’
It was all too much for Ruby. She simply couldn’t cope with the gravity of the news and its many implications for her fiance, and for her. While she liked Ablatt, she resented him for taking up so much of Leach’s time. All that resentment vanished now, drowned beneath a flood of sympathy. After biting her lip and emitting a laugh of disbelief, she swayed to and fro before fainting into his arms.
When the factory hooter sounded, she never even heard it.
‘Are you Horace Waldron?’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘But I was told that you were.’
‘Then you was told lies — my name is Horrie.’
‘It’s only a diminutive of Horace.’
‘What the fuck is that?’
‘Never mind, sir.’
‘And who are you calling “sir”? What’s your game?’
‘I need to speak to you.’
‘Not when I got work to do.’
‘This is important.’
‘So is earning my bleeding beer money.’
Joe Keedy could see that he was in for a difficult interview. When he tracked Waldron down in the cemetery, the man was standing in a grave that was three feet deep. Surly and uncooperative, Waldron chewed on a pipe but there was no tobacco in it. He resumed his digging. Squatting down, Keedy put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
‘Let go of me,’ snarled Waldron.
‘I have to ask you some questions, sir.’
‘Bugger off!’
‘Or perhaps you’d rather answer them in the nearest police station?’
‘That explains the stink round here — you’re a copper.’
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Keedy from Scotland Yard and I’m involved in a murder inquiry.’
‘Then why not leave me alone and get on with it.’
‘I am getting on with it, sir.’
As the gravedigger tried to carry on with his work, Keedy grabbed the spade and wrenched it from his grasp, throwing it down on the grass. Waldron bunched his fists and issued a string of expletives. After threatening to hit Keedy, he thought better of it. Assaulting a detective had serious consequences. Besides, the sergeant was much younger and looked muscular. Waldron folded his arms and scowled.
‘What’s this about a murder, then?’
Keedy stood up. ‘A man named Cyril Ablatt was brutally killed last night.’
‘Really?’ asked Waldron, before releasing a guffaw and slapping his knee in celebration. ‘Are you telling me that snivelling little coward is dead? That goes to prove it — there is a God, after all.’