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

were both out for a bit. Martin got in before Ernie did. What time was it, now?’

‘It was about a quarter past nine, I think,’ said Martin.

‘Ah, yes, that’s right,’ said George. ‘I remember – a quarter past nine.’

‘And what about your other son?’ Jago asked.

‘Ernie? He, er … He got in a bit after ten, about a quarter past, maybe, and we bedded down in the Anderson shelter for the night.’

‘All three of you?’

‘Oh, yes, we were all there together.’

Jago kept his eyes on Martin Sullivan. ‘I understand you were at the Regal cinema on Sunday,’ he said.

If the young man was surprised to be told his whereabouts by a police officer his face did not betray it. Instead he looked affronted.

‘What? What’s going on here? You been spying on me? What kind of police state are we living in?’

‘No,’ said Jago, ‘we haven’t been spying on you. It just came up in a conversation we had with someone.’

‘Who?’

‘I can’t tell you that at the moment. All I want to know is whether you were at the cinema. That’s quite a normal activity. So were you?’

‘Well, yes, I was, as it happens. Not that it’s any of your business. Just an evening out with my girlfriend. So what?’

‘And would you mind telling me what time you left?’

‘About ten past nine, just after the film finished. I told you, I was home by about a quarter past.’

‘Did you walk your girlfriend home?’

‘No, I didn’t, if you must know.’

‘You leave her to fend for herself in the blackout, do you?’

‘No, of course I don’t. Normally I would’ve walked her home, but as it happened I was feeling a bit ill, so I went to the toilets. When I came out I couldn’t see her, so I reckoned she must’ve given up waiting for me and gone.’

‘Did you explain to your girlfriend that you were feeling unwell?’

‘I’m not sure. I told her I had to go to the Gents, but I didn’t go into the details. Well, you don’t, do you? Then when I was looking for her I started feeling ill again, so I went straight home.’

‘Have you seen her since?’

‘No. It’s not like we’re engaged or anything. We’ve just had an evening out once or twice. Besides, between you and me, I’m not so sure I’m the marrying kind.’

‘Really? Why’s that?’

‘Because of what happened to my dad.’

George Sullivan cut into the conversation. ‘Now then, Martin, there’s no need to go into that.’

‘Why not, Dad? It’s not as if you did anything wrong. It was her fault.’ He spoke now to Jago. ‘It was my mum, see – she just walked out when I was twelve, left him to it. And don’t ask me where she is now. I don’t know.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Sullivan.’

‘That’s all right. We managed.’

‘By the way, that reminds me. Is there any Irish blood in your family? Your mother, perhaps?’

‘What? What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I was just wondering. Is there?’

‘No, of course there isn’t. I’m as English as you are, and my dad too. Ask him.’

‘That won’t be necessary. It’s just that I understand you’re interested in Irish politics, and I wondered why.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Never you mind. Is it true?’

‘What if I am? I’m interested in Irish politics the same as I’m interested in American politics or French politics or Italian politics. I’m just interested in what’s going on in the world. Nothing illegal about that, is there? Or is it a crime to think now?’

‘There are no laws against what you think, Mr Sullivan. Only against what you do.’

‘So,’ said Cradock as they drove back from Windmill Lane in the direction of the police station, ‘he reckons he was ill. Not very convincing, was he?’

‘He didn’t inspire me with confidence,’ said Jago, ‘but if his father’s telling the truth he’s got an alibi. Martin can’t have been home by a quarter past nine and hiding in the cinema at the same time to let someone in when everyone had gone home.’

‘I reckon they’re all in it together, sir – that Martin, and his dad, and his brother Ernie too. Very convenient that they were all in the shelter together all night, isn’t it? A bit too convenient, if you ask me. Especially if they’re tied up with the IRA. Did you ask that Superintendent Ford at Special Branch about the gelignite?’

‘Yes. He confirmed that the IRA have stolen gelignite and supplied it to some of their people in London. But whether that means that’s how our safe-breakers got it is another matter.’

‘I expect they could find out, though.’

‘Special Branch don’t necessarily know everything, Peter.’

‘Yes, of course, but they know more than we do.’ Cradock’s eyes widened with a kind of boyish enthusiasm. ‘It must’ve been exciting for you when you worked for them, sir.’

‘Well,’ said Jago, ‘I was only with the Branch for a six-month secondment, so it was hardly a career.’

‘Interesting, though, I bet.’

‘Yes, it was. Mind you, all that business I was involved in with the civil war in Spain is history now. The fascists won, Franco’s got total power, and now the only reason we’re interested in Spain is because we’re worried he might join up with Hitler and Mussolini and grab Gibraltar.’

‘Gibraltar will never fall,’ said Cradock confidently.

‘I believe that’s what they said about the Maginot Line,’ Jago replied. ‘Even Special Branch couldn’t prevent that little disaster. Anyway, Superintendent Ford’s advice was to treat our cinema job as an ordinary case of larceny, so if there’s any heroics required, we’ll leave it to them.’

‘Yes, sir. Still, I wouldn’t mind doing a bit of that myself some day. Special Branch, I mean.’

‘I dare say,’ said Jago. ‘And if they need your services, I’m sure they’ll let us know.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

When they reached Stratford Broadway Jago slowed the car and pulled over to the kerb, where he stopped. He was thinking.

‘Before we go back to the station we need to see if Mr Conway’s in,’ he said. ‘He’s probably