The Prince of Wales public house was situated on the south bank of a meandering section of the river Lea. In the summer months, the pub was popular, with families converging in large numbers to sit outside with their drinks while their children fished or sat happily with their feet dangling in the warm water. But at this time of year, with the nights dark and freezing, the pub landlord had to make do with a few regulars from the neighbouring houses, and on this December night, the pub and surrounding area were quiet, almost deserted – which was why Frankie had chosen to come here. It was the perfect spot for what he had in mind. And if someone saw them, well, then, they were just three mates out for a drink with a ladyfriend. Nothing unusual in that.
It was around eleven o’clock when the cab pulled to a stop outside the pub, just in time for last orders. With much guffawing and play-acting, the three men clambered out with Sally’s body propped up between them.
‘’Ere you go, mate. Another ten bob for your trouble.’ Frankie grinned up at the now affable cabby and was quickly relieved of four half-crowns.
‘Much obliged, Guv’nor. Much obliged!’ Tipping back his bowler hat, the heavily wrapped-up man peered down at the unusual trio standing waiting for the tall man in evening dress and high hat. ‘Bit of a long way to come for a drink, ain’t it, mate? And your ladyfriend looks well gone to me. I doubt if the landlord will serve her any more drinks. I…’ The words seemed to freeze on the man’s lips as he felt menace fill the air around him. Drawing in his chin under the woollen muffler tied round his neck he decided to keep any further comments to himself. Clicking his tongue he urged the horse onwards.
Beckoning his men to follow, Frankie moved quickly away from the bright lights of the pub to a narrow turning at the side where they could hide until it closed for the night.
‘What now, Guv?’ Fred was clutching the body with obvious reluctance, as was Joe.
Afraid that the two men were losing their nerve, Frankie said sharply, ‘Look, I’ve already told you both, this is my problem and I’ll sort it out. Besides, the worst part’s over. All I’ve gotta do now is wait till the pub clears, then take her over to the bridge at Millfields and chuck her in. So you might as well clear off home. If – Hang on!’ He was interrupted by a sudden loud discharge of half a dozen men from the pub. Moving into the shadows, the three waited with bated breath until the rowdy revellers had passed on.
Anxious for his boys to leave, Frankie attempted to take the dead weight of Sally from their grasp, saying gruffly, ‘Go on, get off, the pair of you, you’re getting on me nerves.’ But both men still stood firm.
‘We’re staying, Guv.’
Frankie heard the resolution in Fred’s voice and nipped guiltily at his bottom lip. He should never have put either of them in such a dangerous position. He hadn’t intended to, but when he had spotted them walking ahead of the cab, he had reacted instinctively. Both Fred and Joe had always been alongside him in times of trouble, and he had ordered them into the cab out of habit. Knowing it was useless to argue, and secretly glad they were staying, he lapsed into silence.
The narrow turning in which they were hiding was filled with the sound of their rapid breathing, the air around them filled with thick grey plumes of the steam that streamed from their mouths and nostrils as they tried to ignore the biting winds sweeping in from the dark river.
Another twenty agonising minutes passed before the pub discharged the last of its customers. When Frankie was sure that the landlord had closed for the night and there was no danger of being seen by a last-minute drinker, he beckoned Fred and Joe to follow him. Without the bright lights from the pub, the path leading to the bridge was as black as coal, which was exactly what Frankie had been banking on.
On the short journey he stooped and felt in the dirt road for any large pieces of rock or stone that might be lying around. His fingers closed around a heavy object and he slipped it into his pocket. Then he led the way up the slight incline to the bridge.
Frankie craned his neck to left and right, to make sure they weren’t being observed. Then, his voice low and deep, he said, ‘Let her go, lads. I’ll do the rest.’
The two men stood back panting, glad their nerve-racking ordeal was nearly over.
Dropping to his knees, Frankie pulled Sally’s skirt around her face and head to avoid any blood splattering on his clothes. Then, raising the heavy rock, he began to pound the covered head and face.
Neither Fred nor Joe would have called themselves squeamish, yet when Frankie began to bludgeon Sally’s lifeless form, they turned away. Even though they couldn’t see the mutilation being perpetrated, they could hear the dull, sickening sound as the rock thudded down. Assuming that Frank was attempting to obliterate the features of the dead woman, and therefore draw attention away from himself, they waited stoically until he had finished. Then they heard him panting with exertion as he lifted the body over the side of the bridge.
Suddenly the quiet night was rent apart as a dozen wavering torches lit up the night sky and a steady stream of police officers appeared. Immobilised with horror, the three men stood rigid, like rabbits caught in the glare of a poacher’s lamp, at the sight of the policemen swarming towards them from the bottom of the bridge, torches and truncheons held out before them.
As the horde of uniformed men advanced, Joe and Fred regained their senses and rushed to Frankie’s side, obliterating the sight of the ragged bundle slumped over the bridge. Frankie seized the opportunity with which his men had presented him and, with one last savage push, he toppled the dead weight of Sally Higgins and the rock into the fast-flowing river beneath.
There was a loud splash, followed by a string of oaths from the rapidly approaching policemen.
Knowing it was pointless to run, Frankie turned to meet them, a wide grin creasing his good-looking features. ‘Evening, Officers. Nice night for a walk, ain’t it? ’Ere, get that torch outta me face, will you? You’re blinding me!’
Rough hands grabbed at his arms, but he offered no resistance. He watched in amusement as three policemen scrambled down the grass knoll in a desperate attempt to recover the object that had just been thrown from the bridge.
A man moved forward from the ranks of his colleagues, coat collar turned up around his ears, felt hat pulled down low over his eyes. ‘Hello, Frank. Nice to see you again after all these years. How you been keeping?’ Jack’s voice was pleasant, almost friendly. To the two men holding Frankie captive he added, ‘Let him go.’
Freed, Frankie hitched up his shoulders and walked slowly towards the man in plain-clothes, his ever-active brain already formulating an escape route. One of Sally’s neighbours must have smelt a rat and fetched the coppers. Funny that. Frankie hadn’t thought the kind of people who lived in those rat-infested places would have bothered. But how had they known where to find him? Unless someone had overheard him and the boys talking.
A lesser man would have been terrified at being caught out in such damning circumstances, but Frankie was a past master at pitting his wits against the law. It would be a challenge, and a pleasure, to outwit Jack Adams once again.
Frankie swaggered towards him. ‘Wotcher, Jack. I heard you was back in London. What happened? The sticks get too quiet for you?’
All around them, men stood amazed at the almost cheerful conversation that was taking place between the Inspector and Frankie Buchannon. Then the tone changed abruptly. The smile sliding from his face, Jack dropped the guise of friendliness and snapped, ‘You ain’t gonna wriggle outta this one, Buchannon. You’ve been caught red-handed. It’ll be the rope for you this time. Put your hands out – now!’
Still sounding amused, Frankie said, as he raised his arms towards the threatening figure, ‘You gonna read me palm, Adams?’
Jack snapped handcuffs on the exposed wrists then grabbed Frankie by the arm and shoved him down the path back towards the pub, with a loudly cursing Fred and Joe bringing up the rear.
Frantic splashes could be heard from the bank as several officers waded around in the fast-moving river in search of their evidence. A dozen torches bobbed up and down furiously as they tried to illuminate the dark area, hoping to see better.
Frankie’s taunting laugh echoed in the night air. ‘What you charging me with, Adams? Going out for a late-night walk with me mates an’ chucking a few rocks into the river? You’ll have to do better than that… Inspector!’
Jack growled, ‘You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder, Buchannon. It’s gonna take more than a smart lawyer to get you off this time.’
Frankie’s eyebrows rose in mock horror. ‘Murder, Inspector? And who am I supposed to have murdered? I don’t see no body lying around.’ Casting his gaze over the taut faces of the officers surrounding him, he said, ‘Well, lads, where’s the body, then?’
The gloating tone was too much for Jack, and he ground out, through clenched teeth, ‘We’ll find it, Buchannon, don’t you worry about that. If we don’t find it tonight, there’ll be a police barge out at first light and—’
Frankie swivelled his head round to stare into
Jack’s face. ‘So what if you do find a body? That still don’t mean I killed anyone.’
But Jack replied, ‘Oh, you killed her all right. We’ve already got one witness, and there’ll be others when the news gets out. Somehow, I don’t think you’re as popular, or as feared, as you think you are. Then there’s all of us…’ Jack threw out his arm to indicate his fellow officers. ‘We all heard the body hit the water, Buchannon, every one of us, and—’
Frankie’s eyes glittered like black marbles. Then he spat out, ‘So you heard something going in the river. So what? You’re gonna need more than that to pin a murder on me, Adams, and you know it.’
The temptation to smash his fist into the sneering face was suddenly overwhelming. Jack bundled Frankie over to his eager officers and snapped, ‘Take him to the wagon. Get him outta my sight – and the other two. Go on, take him out of here.’
As Frankie was dragged away, he called mockingly, ‘You ain’t got anything on me, copper. I’m gonna walk away from this, just like I always do.’
Not trusting himself to reply, Jack turned his back on his tormentor and strode back up the narrow dirt path. His face pensive, he stood on the bank, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his overcoat, and watched his men flounder about in the dark, murky waters of the Lea.
Despite his confident words, Jack knew he didn’t have enough evidence to hold Buchannon for long. All he had was the word of Nobby Summers, who had disappeared as soon as he’d told the desk sergeant what he’d overheard. According to him, Frankie had taken some tart to the Prince of Wales pub near Millfields, where he planned to chuck her over the bridge into the Lea. And that was all the information, and evidence, Jack had to go on. Damn it! If only they had arrived ten minutes earlier. Because Jack knew, without doubt, that Buchannon had indeed thrown some poor cow’s body over the bridge. He’d heard her hit the water. There was no mistaking that sound. If they recovered the body and learned who the unfortunate woman was, then there was a good chance of connecting her to Buchannon. But without a body, or conclusive evidence and witnesses, there was nothing Jack could do. Without knowing who she was, he couldn’t even come up with a motive for the murder, which would have been enough to hold Buchannon while he investigated further.
He stared gloomily at the river. He had known of drownings to wash up as far afield as the Thames at Westminster. Many were never found, to remain for ever beneath the dark waters, ensnared in the tangled weed and rushes that littered the river-bed. Pulling his coat collar further up around his neck, Jack turned away sharply and headed back to the pub.
Accompanied by two uniformed officers, Jack stood on the porch of the house in Grantham Avenue, his finger stabbing at the doorbell. To the men with him, the Inspector’s expression was filled with resolve.
They would have been amazed if they had known how dry his mouth had become, how fast his heart was racing. And not only at the prospect of seeing Rose again after all these lonely years. He was deeply apprehensive at having to give her the news he brought.
Pressing the doorbell with renewed vigour and dogged determination, he nevertheless sprang back in alarm as Mary’s familiar voice bellowed, ‘Hold your bleeding horses, will you? You’d better have a bloody good reason for getting me outta bed at this godforsaken hour, you…’ Mary yanked open the door, pulling her thick grey dressing gown over a cream flannel nightdress. Her face fell in dismay at the sight of policemen standing on the doorstep at two o’clock in the morning. Not recognising the plain-clothed man, her eyes were immediately drawn to the dark blue uniforms, her hand clutching in fear at her throat. ‘What’s up? What’s happened?’
Before anyone could speak, another voice, softer but equally worried, came from the passageway behind the stout figure blocking the doorway. ‘Who is it, Auntie?’
Jack’s heart flipped over as he heard Rose’s voice and he warned himself to remember why he was here.
Stepping into the light Jack looked down into the fleshy face and said gently, ‘Hello, Mary.’
Mary’s large mouth flopped open in stunned amazement, but before she could utter another word, Rose had come to stand beside her aunt, her blue eyes looking up anxiously into the rugged, homely face that had once been so dear to her.
When she spoke it was as if she had spoken to him only the day before. ‘What is it, Jack? Has something happened to Frank?’
Jack took off his hat and twisted it between his fingers. ‘Can we come in, Rose? I’m… I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you.’
Swallowing nervously, Rose stood aside to let the three men enter, then, with a regal nod, she indicated that they should follow her. Leading the way to the drawing room, Rose tried valiantly to still her pounding heart. Ever since Frankie had left earlier, she had been afraid. She had tried to stop him going, but he had raced out of the house before she could say anything. Since then she had walked the floor anxiously, before falling into a restless sleep. The moment she had heard the doorbell, she had known instinctively that it meant trouble for him. Exactly what trouble she had yet to learn. Bracing herself for the worst, she led the three men into the plush room and turned on one of the wall lamps. She invited them to be seated, but they declined awkwardly. Wrapping her arms tightly around her upper body in an effort to still their trembling, she looked to Jack for an explanation of the late-night call.
Jack stared at the lovely face, the corner of his mouth beginning to twitch slightly. Rose was clad in a deep green velvet dressing gown, her abundant mass of copper curls falling without restraint around her oval face and shoulders. The years had been kind to her. If anything, she looked even more beautiful than he had remembered.
Jack was about to speak when he found himself thrust to one side by a heavy hand. The next instant he was facing the full impact of Mary Miller’s wrath.
‘You’ve got a bleeding nerve, Jack Adams. Coming round to a respectable house in the middle of the night, scaring decent people half to death. Couldn’t you have waited till morning before crashing in here with your hob-nailed boots? An’ that goes for you two gormless sods, an’ all.’ She bestowed a look of pure venom on the two uniformed officers, which caused them to fidget uneasily. The furious woman, with her straggly hair bound up in tortuous-looking steel pins was a terrifying sight, but Jack had seen the spectacle too often in the past to be intimidated by it now.
He also knew Mary well enough to understand that beneath the quarrelsome, hostile façade, the elderly woman was badly frightened.
‘Auntie!’ Rose’s voice was unusually sharp, betraying her growing agitation.
Mary, her lips working, fell silent, but her eyes and manner remained malevolent.
In the strained silence, Jack found himself wishing he was back in the peaceful surroundings of Hemerly. But it had been the unending peace and tranquillity that had finally driven him to distraction. He had realised, years ago, that he wasn’t cut out for country life, not on his own, anyway.
Perhaps if Rose had been with him it would have made a difference. But deep down inside him, Jack recognised that he was a working copper with all that that entailed. Mixing with the poor and downtrodden, the drunks, the misfits and the downright evil was an integral part of his life as a police officer. Three years ago he had transferred to Scotland Yard and, with hard work, had risen to the rank of inspector. Yet it was only a few months ago that he had asked to be assigned to his old patch. He had asked himself many times why he had wanted to return to a place that held so many bitter, painful memories for him. And while until now he had been able to assure himself that he had had no ulterior reason in wanting to be back in the East End, he knew, as he stared hungrily at the lovely ashen face, that Rose had been behind his desire to be in his old haunts. But he had never imagined they would meet again under such circumstances. Jack had no pity for Buchannon – to his mind, the man deserved all that was coming to him – but Rose loved him, and Jack had heard that they now had two children.
A soft, audible sigh escaped his lips. This wasn’t going to be easy. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Rose, but Frank’s been arrested… on suspicion of murder.’
A cry burst from Rose’s lips, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment Jack thought she was about to fall.
He moved forward as Rose gripped the edge of a walnut table to steady herself. When she raised her eyes to meet his, he witnessed a sudden change in her. There was a steeliness in the blue eyes he had never seen before. And for a brief, stomach-turning moment, Jack found himself staring into the face of a stranger. When she spoke at last, her voice was clipped and self-assured. ‘You say suspicion of murder? And who exactly has my husband been accused of murdering, Inspector?’
Meeting the cool stare, Jack swallowed hard. When he answered his chilly tones matched hers. ‘We don’t know yet, Mrs Buchannon. Your husband was seen bundling a woman into a cab outside a tenement building in Hackney. Our informant also overheard him planning with two of his men to throw the woman into the river Lea. We arrived too late to stop him committing the act, but we all – that is, my men and I – heard the body hit the water. We…’
A surge of hope came into Rose’s eyes, and beside her she felt Mary grab her hand. ‘Are you telling me, Inspector, that no one actually saw my husband push this woman, whoever she may be, into the river?’
Immediately on the defensive, Jack answered curtly, ‘No. That is, we didn’t actually see him.’
A smile of triumph swept over both women’s faces.
‘And this witness you have. Will he or she swear in a court of law to what you have told me?’
Jack thought of Nobby, who had informed on Buchannon and had swiftly taken to his heels. He knew that, for the moment, he was defeated.
Rose saw his confidence collapse and said tersely, ‘I’d like you all to leave now, Inspector. I have a call to make, to my husband’s lawyer. Good evening, gentlemen.’
There was nothing left for Jack to do except give in gracefully. For now.
Beckoning to the uncomfortable-looking officers standing by the door, Jack left Frankie Buchannon’s house, his heart as heavy as it had been on the last occasion he had visited it.
‘What now, sir?’ one of the constables ventured to ask.
Jack, his expression sombre, answered crisply, ‘We go to the address the informant gave the desk sergeant and start knocking on some doors.’