The Clockmaker Read online

  Mickey and Henry exchanged a glance. It seemed to them that all that could be done probably had been done. This was a big distance to search, and if there were no clues as to where the young man had left the train, then there would be no clues as to where he might have ended up.

  ‘And have there been any communications, any witnesses who have seen the posters and might’ve seen him?’

  Abraham shook his head. ‘There have been a few individuals who have contacted our families to ask if there is a reward and who have obviously been giving us false information. Rambling stories that don’t make any sense. We’ve ensured that one of the menfolk has spoken to each one of these, but it soon became clear that they are all deceivers. It does not help that we are Jews.’

  Henry opened his mouth to object to that last sentence and then closed it again, thinking that Abraham was probably right. He witnessed anti-Semitism all the time in his work, most of it casual and unthinking, rather than deliberately targeted, but nonetheless …

  ‘Who is handling the case now?’

  ‘Local constables in Lincoln and here. The railway police have been involved, of course.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a list of names. ‘These are the men we’ve had dealings with,’ he said. ‘No one has been helpful.’

  ‘And I’m not sure we can be of any more use,’ Mickey said frankly. ‘He could have gone missing anywhere along that route. He could have made a deliberate decision to go away for a time, found himself some casual work and lodgings, and not want to be found.’

  ‘And if that was the case, then we would leave him alone. But we would still need to know. You understand that?’

  ‘Mr Levy – Abraham – we are murder detectives. This is not directly within our purview.’

  Abraham regarded them solemnly. ‘Joseph would not just go,’ he insisted. ‘Inspector, Sergeant Hitchens, believe me when I say that it is only a matter of time before this becomes your business. I believe that Joseph is dead. Had Joseph still been alive, he would have contacted his family; he would not have left them to suffer the way they have. He’s a good boy … Or he was a good boy. I am fearful – no, I am certain – that something bad has happened to him and that he is no longer alive.’

  There was silence at the little table. Mickey picked up his cup, drained it and set it down gently. ‘It would do no harm to call in the files,’ he said. ‘I can take a look on my own time, but for now, Abraham, that is all we can do. You understand that?’

  The clockmaker nodded. ‘When his body is found, which surely it must be sometime, you will need me to make introductions. As I’ve said, we are a close community and a closed one too in many ways; you will need someone from the inside of the community to open doors. You understand that?’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, eh?’ Mickey said.

  Abraham nodded, then retrieved his hat and took his leave.

  ‘We both know he’s right,’ Henry said as the café door closed behind him.

  ‘More than likely, but we also know there’s not a lot we can do until a body turns up, and it’s a long way from Lincoln to London; the boy could have got off anywhere – or been thrown off.’ Mickey frowned.

  ‘True,’ Henry admitted. ‘Perhaps he was having second thoughts about the wedding after the argument and has simply taken off somewhere. That would be an alternative.’

  ‘Better to be heartbroken than a murder victim,’ Mickey agreed. ‘I’ll call in the files from the various constabularies and the railway police, see what we can find out. I doubt there will be much.’

  ‘And there is an outside chance that the boy may yet turn up,’ Henry said, but he did not sound at all hopeful.

  ‘He is just a boy,’ Mickey said quietly. ‘Though it’s not long since boys of that age were deemed fit to be fodder for the machine guns and mortars.’

  ‘And that was wrong,’ Henry said flatly. ‘And still is. No, you are right. If we don’t look into it, no one else will. We’ll give it an hour or two of our time – see if there is anything to be followed up. But, frankly, Mickey, I doubt there will be anything. Abraham will be as much in the dark after we have examined the files as he is now. And even if we do find something, unless the local constabulary ask for our help, we can still do nothing, and they will not ask unless the worst happens and a body is found.’

  Mickey shrugged. ‘Cross that bridge,’ he said.

  TWO

  Cynthia was packing. Her maid had directed Henry to the dressing room and, after kissing his sister, he dropped, with a deep sigh, into the green nursing chair beside the narrow stained-glass window.

  ‘Sudden trip?’ he asked.

  ‘Decided this morning, at breakfast,’ Cynthia confirmed. ‘I am taking my husband away for a week or so. It’s for his own good; he is becoming very morose.’

  ‘And the reason for that?’

  ‘The reason for that, Henry, is that he knows he has recently made some bad decisions and is being pressured into making more. My thinking is that if I take him away for a while, he’ll have time to rehearse his polite refusal without the fear of getting it wrong and consequently losing face.’

  ‘Hatry’s mob?’ Henry guessed.

  ‘“Mob” is the right word for them,’ Cynthia replied with some asperity. ‘For all their titles and position, that’s exactly what they are.’

  ‘And how over-extended is Albert?’

  ‘So far, within the bounds of what we can afford to lose without too many long-term regrets. To be truthful, Henry, I’m hoping this whole business is starting to sting. He can be a fool, that husband of mine, though there’s no one else I’d say that to.’

  Just before Christmas, Albert had been offered a ‘sure-fire for certain’ business opportunity by one Clarence Charles Hatry, who invited Albert to invest in his company, General Securities Limited, adding the bait that one of his main backers was Henry Paulet, Marquis of Winchester, a man Albert wanted to cultivate. Cynthia, doubtful that any deal was ‘sure-fire’ or ‘for certain’, had looked into the previous business dealings of this Hatry, and what she found had frightened her enough to warn Albert off. A multiple bankrupt who left in his wake penury and wrecked lives, but who always seemed to come out well himself.

  Albert had abided by Cynthia’s advice back then, but it seemed he was now under further pressure.

  ‘So, where are you taking him?’

  ‘As far away as I can. We catch the plane from Croydon airport tomorrow morning and will be in France by afternoon. I have arranged for a car to take us to Lyon.’

  ‘Lyon?’

  ‘First place I could think of. I told Albert I’d always wanted to see it. Malina was good enough to make the arrangements and do the bookings. That girl is a real treasure.’

  Henry smiled. Malina Cooper had joined his sister’s household, ostensibly as her secretary, also just before Christmas. Initially, Cynthia had been simply asked to give the young woman shelter for a few days, her life being threatened, but events had taken over. Malina had become a valued member of the staff – and rather more than that.

  ‘And Albert agreed to this sudden arrangement?’

  ‘Albert was looking for an escape route. All I did was open the door.’

  ‘It’s that bad?’

  ‘He can see it getting that way. Henry, I know the work you do is useful and that you bring some truly evil people to justice, but frankly I believe the biggest criminals are those way beyond your reach.’

  ‘Well, unless they commit murder, there’s not a great deal I can do,’ Henry admitted. ‘Cyn, how worried are you?’

  ‘Henry, you dimwit! I’m packing, aren’t I? We’re leaving in the morning. What does that tell you? Once that lot have their claws stuck in, who knows what will happen. They’d drain him dry if they could, and then spit out his corpse and grind it into the dirt without a second look.’

  ‘But you’ve taken steps …’ Just before Christmas, Cynthia had persuaded her husband to sign over a portion
of his estate to her sole control.

  ‘Oh, if it all falls over, we won’t starve! I have control of sufficient money and of his property portfolio, and I have all of that tied up with so much red tape that Hatry and his ilk could have me floating in the Thames and still not be able to touch it. Nor Albert, for that matter. It’s all in trust for the children, should I die, and portioned out carefully so they can’t get all spendthrift when they turn twenty-five. But it’s what it’s going to do to Albert if all of this goes the way I suspect it will. He’s already suffering abuse for listening to a mere woman; if he shows himself, publicly, to be an even bigger fool when he doesn’t listen to his bloody wife, well … Henry, I don’t know what will happen to him.’

  She turned from her packing and flopped down into the chair beside his. ‘Strange and unfashionable as it might sound in this cynical age, I do happen to be fond of my husband. He’s a good man at heart, and I don’t want to see him in despair, derided by those who really should know better.’

  It occurred to Henry that Cynthia was doing her own packing and that her maid, Gwenda, had skittered away once she’d informed her mistress that her brother had arrived. Things must really be out of kilter. ‘Are you taking Malina with you?’

  ‘No, just Gwennie.’

  Henry reflected that in most other households Gwennie would have been renamed Dorcas or Smith or some such.

  ‘It’s just going to be me and Albert. We’re going to drive where we like, stay where we want and talk or not, depending on what’s necessary. I need to save my husband from himself, Henry. I’m damned if I’m going to let the likes of Hatry and the rest prey on him.’

  Henry, knowing just how fiercely protective his sister could be, rated her chances better than those of her opposition.

  ‘I will miss you,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ she smiled. ‘And I will write, daily. And you’ll come and see Melissa and Georgie?’

  ‘Of course I will. Does Cyril know of your plans?’ Cyril, the older boy, was away at school.

  ‘He does, and he has a clear understanding of why.’

  ‘Is that wise? He’s only a child.’

  ‘He’s almost thirteen, bright as a button and with a sense of responsibility that would shame most adults. Henry, Cyril almost caught me in a lie at Christmas. He knew there was something on my mind. Albert and I, we sat him down and explained what we had agreed to do. And, no, Henry, I’m not sure if that was wise or foolish – only that it had to be done. I’m not a believer in lying to children; they only imagine the worst and then suffer for it.’

  ‘I’ve rarely see you this upset,’ Henry said gently.

  She clasped his hand and smiled. ‘And I’ll get over it. Now, how was your day? Tell me about crimes that are obviously so and that have simple solutions.’

  Henry, thinking of the likes of Abraham the clockmaker and his nephew, wondered if crimes were ever simple.

  THREE

  It was Monday, five days after they had spoken to Abraham, by the time the files had all been sent through to the central office. Mickey and Henry brought sandwiches to their desks and took their lunchtime to read, dividing the task between them.

  The material itself was scant. They had statements from the family Joseph had been visiting in Lincoln, who had definitely witnessed him getting on to the train. They had statements from local constables at various stations that he must have passed through if he had taken his expected route. There were interviews with station masters and their staff from a number of different locations, but no one remembered a young man of his description. There were also pictures of the young man and a handful of fliers that the family must have given to the police to distribute to the public, but they remained in the folders, unused. It was evident that the local constabulary had gone through the motions, but there was little for them to go on, and little action they could take beyond questioning those who might have seen Joseph at one of the stations en route.

  ‘He should have travelled from Lincoln to Peterborough and then picked up the London train from there,’ Mickey said. ‘So it is logical to think that he left the train somewhere between.’

  ‘There is one possible sighting,’ Henry said. ‘At the station called Bardney, a married couple who regularly travel on that train suspect that they had seen the young man. They reported that he had left the train but had not taken his suitcase with him.’

  He handed the brief statement to Mickey, who read it through. ‘So, Mr and Mrs Parker think the young man who got off at Bardney station was our Joseph Levy. It was certainly his luggage, judging by the luggage label. Do we know what happened to the suitcase?’

  ‘If they reported it, then it’s probably in a left luggage store somewhere, waiting to be claimed. We have to hope it’s in Peterborough, or that it’s made its way to King’s Cross or somewhere just as easy to access. Looking at the route, it seems there are a great many more stops on this line than I suspected.’

  A timetable and a rail map had been tucked into the folder containing the Lincoln statements. Henry laid it on the desk between them. ‘So, this Bardney is only a few stops out of Lincoln. Is it possible he only made it this far?’

  ‘And why get off the train there? Why leave your suitcase behind? The Parkers seem not to have voiced an opinion on this and no one seems to have asked them anything useful.’

  ‘If the Parkers simply reported a lost bag, it might not have occurred to anyone to ask them anything more. For all we know, they might be wrong about him getting off at Bardney. It could have been the station before, or the one after.’

  ‘He could have chosen worse,’ Henry said. ‘The train he caught is on something called the Lincoln Loop, or Witham Loop – apparently, it follows the course of the river. At Bardney, this splits off: one line goes on to Peterborough and the other goes to Louth. He could have picked up another train at Louth and we’d have no idea of his journey from there.’

  ‘Nice little town, Louth,’ Mickey said. ‘Even if it is in the middle of nowhere.’ The previous year, a double murder had taken them to the market town. ‘And why leave his suitcase?’

  ‘So, for the moment we set that possibility aside and we focus on Bardney. Constable George Young is our man on the spot there. I suggest we contact the constable and ask him to spread his search a little wider. Beyond that, there is little we can do unless or until our man turns up as a corpse.’

  ‘Which is more than likely,’ Mickey agreed morosely. He took out his pocket watch. Worn smooth with use and the polish of hands and pockets, it was a much-loved timepiece. He opened the case and studied the white enamel face. ‘Well, we’ve given this the time we allocated. If one of us telephones the constable later this afternoon, then we’ll have done our duty by both of the Levys for the time being. Frankly, I’m hoping the young man just got cold feet and decided to make a run for it, and that sooner or later he’ll feel sheepish enough to make contact with his family.’

  Henry nodded. He gathered up the folders and consigned them to a desk drawer. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘to more pressing business and Mr Clement Atkins.’

  Clem Atkins had taken over the territory and dealings of his erstwhile employer, Josiah Bailey, in what, under the circumstances, had been a relatively bloodless coup, the major victim being Josiah Bailey himself. The Baileys had controlled the turf around Commercial Road for two generations, a little island of streets crushed between the holdings of other criminal gangs, but they had held their own and rumour was that Clem Atkins intended to expand his territory. A body had been fished out of the Tobacco Dock two days before, an associate of Mr Atkins, and now the rumour said Clem was looking for whoever had knifed his lieutenant and dumped the body, not even weighting it down, but making sure that it would easily be found. It was not lost on anyone that the warehouses in the Tobacco Dock had housed the boxing club that had been the centre of Josiah Bailey’s empire and, as yet, no one was quite sure what to make of that.

  Was it someone who had a
grudge against the late Bailey? Or someone warning Clem Atkins that this was as far as he went, the docks being a dividing line between himself and two other gangs.

  The post-mortem report had just come in, as had witness interviews taken by local constables, and although this was not their case, Mickey and Henry Johnstone had a particular interest in the goings-on within Clem Atkins’ territory and liked to keep themselves apprised of developments. Clem Atkins had staged his coup late the previous year, deposing Bailey himself at a time when Henry and Mickey had been investigating the untimely demise of two of Bailey’s men. Atkins had been implicated, but they had not been able to prove anything. Nor had they been able to prove that Atkins had arranged for Bailey, once his boss, to be removed by violence – even though everyone knew he must have been behind it.

  ‘Toby Ince, aka Tom Timmins or Rex Paul. That last one sounds a bit pretentious,’ Mickey laughed. ‘Had history with the race gangs a few years back, but since then he’s been an odd-job man, mostly for Bailey and now, presumably, Atkins. Was known to put the frighteners on anyone new to the area who might not believe in paying their dues; had the usual convictions for illegal betting and other petty crimes.’

  ‘A single stab wound to the back that pierced a kidney, and then he was thrown in the water,’ Henry said. ‘Word is that Clem Atkins wants to know who did the deed, but he doesn’t seem to be making too many waves. Atkins isn’t like Bailey; he’s better at the long game. He’ll wait until he’s certain of his target and then he’ll strike. Bailey would have been piling up the bodies by now.’