The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (best thriller novels of all time .TXT) 📗

the bank. But I think she got another eighteen bob or something family allowance for her husband being a private in the army. So what’s that altogether? Two pounds five and six a week. Still not a lot when you’re paying rent.’

‘I see. Now, forgive me for asking, but at times like this some women have to do things they wouldn’t normally consider doing to earn enough money to live.’

Carol gave a short, tinkling laugh. ‘Oh, aren’t you sweet? Don’t worry, I know what you mean.’

‘Do you know whether this might’ve applied to Joan?’

‘If it did, it would’ve been her own business, and I don’t think she’d have broadcast the news to all and sundry. I wouldn’t have judged her if she’d been tempted, but the fact is I don’t know – she never said, and I never saw.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Look, Inspector, some men think there are perfect women out there – always faithful to their husband in thought and deed, devote their life to his happiness and welfare, never flirt, never even smoke or drink, but make allowances for everything he does. That’s what they think, but I doubt whether they’ve ever met one in real life. I’ve already told you she was a flirt, so that’s one bad mark against her, and she might’ve failed on some of those other points. I don’t know everything about her life, but she was a good friend to me when I needed one, and that’s all that matters to me.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jago walked into West Ham police station, followed by Cradock, who was still carrying the suitcase, and raised a hand in mock salute to Station Sergeant Frank Tompkins on the front desk.

‘Afternoon, Frank,’ he said. ‘Everything under control as usual, I assume?’

‘Afternoon, sir,’ said Tompkins. ‘All shipshape and Bristol fashion, if I say so myself. Although what Mr Soper’s going to say about you two turning up for duty on a Monday morning at half past three in the afternoon I don’t know.’

‘Well, you know what it’s like, Frank – it can be difficult getting out of bed when you’re old. Heaven knows what I’ll be like when I’m as old as you.’

‘Don’t remind me. But I’ve got one advantage over you – I’ve got a missus to kick me out of bed. Don’t need an alarm clock – it works like a charm. You should think about getting one yourself, sir. A missus, I mean, not an alarm clock. Oh, and that reminds me, how are you getting on with that nice young—’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frank,’ Jago interrupted. ‘But I didn’t need either this morning – I got a personal early morning call from one of your men, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Well, yes, a little dicky bird did tell me there’d been an unfortunate incident over in Carpenters Road, and I thought that might’ve detained you.’

‘While you were still tucked up in bed with your missus, no doubt. Did that little bird tell you what time DC Cradock and I started work today?’ He glanced up at the clock on the wall. ‘Twelve hours ago almost to the minute – for me, at least. A little later for him.’

Cradock was about to spring to his own defence, but thought better of it.

‘Sorry,’ said Tompkins. ‘My mistake.’

‘You don’t make mistakes, Frank, you’re too long in the tooth to get anything wrong. You must be the longest-serving officer on the division.’

‘No need to rub it in. I used to hate being retired, but now I’m back serving His Majesty again I miss it more every day.’

Tompkins peered down his nose at Cradock.

‘Anyway, you two going off on holiday?’ he said. ‘I’ve heard Eastbourne’s very nice at this time of year if you don’t mind the barbed wire on the beach. Only one suitcase, though?’

‘Ah, that,’ Jago replied. ‘Give it here, Peter.’

Cradock handed him the suitcase, and Jago set it down on the desk in front of Tompkins. He opened it so the sergeant could see the contents.

‘What do you make of these, Frank?’

‘Well, let’s have a look.’ Tompkins took out the garments and turned them over in his hands. ‘Hmm, green shirt, green hood, a natty pair of green shorts. No accounting for taste, is there? My guess is you’re on your way to the theatre and you’re going to be appearing in a pantomime. Robin Hood, is it? Can I be one of your merry men? You’ll need a Maid Marian too, won’t you – got anyone in mind?’

‘If I didn’t know you better, Sergeant, I’d say there was a hint of impertinence in that remark, but I’m sure I’m mistaken.’

‘Oh, absolutely, sir,’ said Tompkins with a broad grin. ‘And do give her my best wishes when you next see her, sir.’

‘Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind. Now, about these clothes. I’m trying to work out what they are. There’s a badge on the tunic that looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it. You’ve seen everything in your time, Frank, and your memory’s better than mine, so I thought you’d be able to put your finger on it.’

Tompkins took a closer look at the badge.

‘Yes, now I look at it again it rings a bit of a bell with me too. A green tree, a red shape like smoke from a campfire and a blue thing like a letter K. I remember seeing this back in the twenties, I think. I’ve an idea it was something to do with those blokes who wear shirts.’

‘That narrows it down to the entire male population.’

‘No, I mean the ones who wear coloured shirts and like to strut about in the street. You know – you’ve got Hitler with his Brownshirts, and Mussolini with his Blackshirts, and then we had Mosley and his mob in black shirts too, and the Irish with their Blueshirts. They wear them like a uniform. And then on top of all that we had Greenshirts. I can’t say I know exactly what the