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

so Jago decided now would be a good time to visit him. He made his way to the police station entrance, followed by Cradock, and stopped for a word with Frank Tompkins.

‘We’re just nipping up to Carpenters Road, Frank, if anyone wants us,’ he said.

‘Actually, sir,’ Tompkins replied, ‘I’ve got a man waiting to see you. He’s just arrived. Young fellow, a bit down in the mouth – probably disappointed, I should think.’

‘Disappointed?’

‘Well, judging by the look of him, he’s been in training for the Olympic Games – this year’s ones, I mean, the ones that never happened. Athletic type, if you know what I mean.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Jago. ‘It was supposed to be Tokyo, wasn’t it? Except they were too busy fighting the Chinese. Then it was Helsinki, but they were too busy being invaded by Russia, and now everyone’s too busy fighting everyone else. He’ll have to wait for 1944 – that’s when they’re supposed to be held in London, isn’t it?’

‘I think you’re right there, sir, but somehow I don’t think we’ll have finished the current spot of difficulty in time for that. Pity, though – your young man looks like he’ll be too old if he has to wait till 1948, assuming even those games happen. He’s in peak condition now, at any rate, as far as I can tell – perhaps we ought to see if he’d like to become a police constable. He’s got the height for it, and bigger muscles than I ever had.’

‘Ah, but you always had the cunning, didn’t you, Frank?’

‘Had? You should ask my missus about that. She reckons I’ve still got more than my fair share when it comes to dodging the chores.’

‘So where is this fine specimen of British manhood?’

‘I’ve put him in the interview room. You can’t miss him.’

‘Name?’

‘He said it’s Wilson – Bert Wilson.’

Jago and Cradock found Wilson sitting in the interview room, and from the sight of him they thought Frank’s assessment of his mood wasn’t too wide of the mark. He certainly looked preoccupied. As soon as they entered the room, he jumped to his feet.

‘Hello, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure whether I should disturb you, but I’ve had something on my mind and I thought I should come and see you. It’s about Joan.’

‘Yes – what is it?’

‘Well, it’s more about Mr Conway actually. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it’s just that there was something about the way he was with Joan. He was always sort of, well, pestering her.’

‘I see.’

Jago gestured towards the chair, and Wilson sat down again.

‘How do you know he was pestering her?’

‘She told me. I think it was because her husband was away – maybe he thought she’d be up for a bit of play, if you get my drift. But she wasn’t like that. She was a lovely girl, like I told you before – sweet, gentle, tender-hearted. If it wasn’t for Joan I don’t know where I’d be now.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Why? I probably wouldn’t have a job, that’s why. When the Broadway got bombed I didn’t know what I’d do – I couldn’t go back to the job I’d had before that. But when Joan moved to the Regal, she said she’d put in a word for me with Mr Conway, and she must’ve done, because he took me on.’

‘You told us you knew Joan before you both went to work at the Regal. What was the nature of your relationship?’

Wilson hesitated, a flicker of wariness in his eyes, but then looked straight at Jago.

‘It wasn’t a relationship,’ he replied. ‘We just got on well. She’s been a good friend to me. People look at me, and because I’m big they think I’m confident. You know how it is – you’re in the pub and someone’s had too much to drink, they always think if you’re a big bloke they’ll look good if they can take you on, maybe land a punch or two. Conway’s a bit like that. He likes to push me around at work because he knows I can’t do anything about it if I want to keep my job. Joan seemed to understand that – it was as though she knew just what he was doing, and she’d be on my side. She was the kind of girl you could talk to.’

‘You said just now that you couldn’t go back to your old job. What did you mean?’

‘Well, I’d been a doorman at the Broadway since the winter before last, and it was the first proper job I’d ever had – you know, the kind of job where you go to work every day and it’s all above board and you pay your taxes – and I didn’t get that till I was twenty-four. I left school at fourteen – couldn’t wait to get out, like lots of kids. But all I could find was labouring jobs, just bits and pieces here and there, nothing solid.’

‘And that’s what you were doing before you started work at the Broadway?’

‘No, for the last couple of years before that I had a different kind of job.’

‘And that’s what you couldn’t go back to?’

‘That’s right – the bloke I worked for had died, you see, and that was the end of the job.’

‘Which was?’

‘Well, I was, er …’

He hesitated again, casting a glance towards the door as if looking for an escape route.

‘You were what?’ said Jago.

‘I was, er, a debt collector. It’s like the doorman job, really – you know, if you’re big like me, people think you can do the strong-arm stuff and persuade the poor mugs to cough up the money they owe. Most of the time that’s all it needs, though – if you look like you’re capable of knocking them about, they’ll pay up sooner than take a chance and find out the hard way.’

‘But if the hard way was the only way?’

‘Look, Inspector, I’m not saying I’m proud of what I did, but I needed the job and