Stratton arrived home, on time for once but feeling thoroughly out of sorts, and was not best pleased to find Jenny and Doris sitting in the kitchen, with the unmistakable look of two women who had got together to sort out a man: him. Must be about talking to Johnny, Stratton thought. He had promised to speak to Johnny, he knew. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t had time. It had been at the back of his mind, but what with everything at work and going to visit the kids … Bloody hell, he thought, that’s all I need.
He went upstairs to tidy himself before tea, trying to spin out his ablutions for as long as possible. When he came down about ten minutes later, he stood on the stairs for a moment, trying to pick up what Jenny and Doris were saying, but they spoke too softly. They must have heard him coming, because by the time he entered the kitchen, an animated discussion about Princess Elizabeth’s broadcast to the children was underway. It sounded, to Stratton’s ears, curiously unspontaneous, as if they’d already had that particular conversation and were repeating it now for his benefit. It’s the etiquette of the thing, he thought. They’re just trying to lull me into a false sense of security before they join forces and pounce. Accepting a cup of tea from Jenny, he thought, balls to that. He didn’t have the patience to do it their way – what with the bishop’s son and Sir Neville, he’d had quite enough pussy-footing around. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
Jenny and Doris looked disconcerted, and Stratton felt an altogether childish, but none the less enjoyable, pleasure at having thrown a spanner into the works. Then realising from their genuinely serious expressions that this was more than the usual feminine hokum, he softened. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘I’ve had a hell of
a day. Let’s not go round the mulberry bush – just tell me. It’s Johnny again, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘Lilian was here this afternoon. She’s out of her mind with worry.’
‘Has she found out about the petrol coupons?’
‘Yes, but it’s worse than that, Ted. She thinks he’s killed someone.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Stratton. ‘Why?’
‘She overheard him,’ said Doris. ‘He was talking to one of his friends. They were larking around, boasting – you know the sort of thing.’
‘Yes,’ said Stratton, ‘but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’
‘Lilian thinks it does. She said she heard Johnny say to this young chap that he’d better be careful, because he’d killed someone – bumped off, he said – and then the other one said it was just some old woman, and—’
‘An old woman?’
‘Yes. “Some old girl up west,” was what he said.’
‘When did she hear this?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Has she told Reg?’
‘He thinks it’s a joke,’ said Jenny. ‘Funny sort of joke, if you ask me, but all the same … We tried to tell Lilian it wasn’t very likely,’ she looked at Doris, who nodded in confirmation, ‘but she’s convinced it’s true.’
‘Why?’ asked Stratton. ‘She’s usually the one who defends him.’
‘That’s what’s so odd about it,’ said Doris. ‘Lilian said it was the way Johnny said it. His face. It seems she’s known about the coupons for a while, and him losing his job, and she said she didn’t tell Reg because she thought he’d be angry, and Johnny told her he’d got another job lined up. He kept saying she was worrying over nothing, and the business at the garage was all a mistake and nothing to do with him, and of course she believed him.’
‘We tried to tell her, Ted,’ said Jenny. ‘I told her what Mr Hartree said, that Johnny had been fiddling the coupons, but she wouldn’t listen. But this afternoon, well …’
‘I’ve never seen her like it,’ said Doris. ‘She said things had never been right between Johnny and Reg and then she said she didn’t
know what she’d done wrong but it must be her fault for being a bad mother, and Reg had always thought she was stupid. When we asked her why she’d never said any of this to us before, she said it was because she didn’t want to turn the rest of the family against Reg and Johnny more than they were already, but she couldn’t bear the strain of keeping it to herself any longer. It was awful, wasn’t it, Jen?’
Jenny nodded. ‘We didn’t know what to say, Ted.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Stratton.
Jenny and Doris looked at each other. ‘We really don’t know,’ said Jenny. ‘But it’s like Doris said, we’ve never seen her like that before, so het up … She was crying.’
‘She never does that,’ said Doris. ‘Jen and me were trying to remember if we’d ever seen her cry before, and we couldn’t, even when we were little. Not over anything.’
‘Really?’ said Stratton, surprised. He’d always considered that Lilian’s lack of emotional response must come either from being too cowardly to face up to the true horror of being married to Reg, or too dim to see that there was anything to be faced up to. It had never entered his head that her phlegmatic manner might be a sign of fortitude.
‘Never,’ repeated Jenny. ‘That’s what made us think there must be something in it. I know it sounds far-fetched, but …’
The unspoken end of the sentence seemed to buzz in the air between the three of them like an angry wasp. Stratton imagined that Jenny and Doris, like himself, were trying to swat it away. Was it so far-fetched, he wondered. He’d been worried about Johnny for some time – the whole family had, apart from his idiot of a father – but he’d assumed it was theft, looting from bombed premises, that sort of caper, not murder. Remembering Johnny shadow-boxing in the alley, Stratton thought, but he’s still a child. Except he wasn’t, not any more. Johnny was old enough to fight, and to kill, legally, for his country. And gangsters had to start somewhere … He thought of Joe Vincent’s description of Wallace’s boy companion: sixteen or seventeen, brown hair, pale, freckled face. Rogers had said he was medium height with dark brown hair. Johnny was eighteen, but otherwise both those descriptions, vague as they were, fitted him. Bumped off some old girl up west. Mabel Morgan had been forty-seven when she died, middle-aged but not
old, though her scarred face, her wig, and the crimped, toothless mouth might have made her appear so …
But he wouldn’t. Not his own nephew … Maybe Reg was right, for once – being a copper made you suspicious of everybody.
‘On the other hand,’ Jenny was saying, ‘it’s like you said, Ted. That sort of boasting doesn’t really mean anything, and I know Johnny’s always been a bit wayward, but I’m sure he’d never do anything really bad. Not like that, anyway,’ she added, in an unfamiliar wheedling tone that suggested she was trying to convince herself as much as him and Doris.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘And I won’t know until I ask him. I’ll go over there now.’
‘Would you?’ said Jenny. ‘I know Lilian would be grateful.’
Walking down the road, Stratton wondered what he was going to say to Reg, failed to think of anything, and fervently hoped that he’d be off on patrol somewhere with the Home Guard. By the time he’d turned the corner of their road, he found himself hoping that Johnny wouldn’t be at home, either. After all, it was one thing to question a person you’d only just met, quite another when the suspect was your own nephew, for God’s sake.
When Lilian answered the door and let him in, Stratton inspected her face for signs of tears. Her eyes did look slightly red, but if he hadn’t been alerted by Jenny and Doris, he honestly didn’t think he would have noticed. She accepted his suggestion that he might go and have a word with Johnny, sent him upstairs and went back to the kitchen. Stratton knocked on the door of Johnny’s room, got a grunted ‘What?’ and entered.
Johnny was lying diagonally across his bed, feet and head hanging off on either side, smoking and staring, upside down, at the bookcase on the other side of his small room. Seeing Stratton, he righted himself in a single movement, leant on his elbows, and stared up at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
Looking round, Stratton saw a row of books, mostly from the library, by authors such as Sapper, Peter Cheyney, and Erle Stanley Gardener. ‘I didn’t know you liked detective stories,’ he said.
‘They’re all right.’
Stratton picked up a book. ‘Sabatini. I used to like him.’
‘Soft,’ said Johnny, scornfully, blowing smoke.
‘I suppose they must be, to modern taste. I haven’t read one for years.’
‘You didn’t come up here to talk about books, did you?’
‘No,’ said Stratton. ‘I didn’t. I’ve come for a chat.’
‘I’m not scared of you.’
‘I should hope not,’ said Stratton, sitting down beside him on the bed. ‘Move over.’
‘Oi!’ said Johnny. ‘What you doing?’
‘Making myself comfortable. I suggest you do the same.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, you don’t want to be uncomfortable, do you?’
Johnny levered himself off the bed. ‘I’m going out.’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Stratton. ‘Not till you’ve heard what I’m going to say.’
Johnny looked down at him. ‘Supposing I don’t want to?’
Stratton, who certainly wouldn’t have accepted that sort of talk from Pete, decided to let it go. ‘That would be a shame,’ he said, mildly, ‘because you’re in trouble, and I’d like to help.’
‘Arrest me, you mean.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘You know.’
‘The petrol coupons?’
‘That wasn’t me. You all think it was, but it wasn’t.’
‘Who was it, then?’
‘The others.’
‘What others?’
‘At the garage.’
‘Mr Hartree doesn’t employ anyone else.’
‘It was him and his pals doing it. They blamed me ‘cause they was scared someone would find out.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I don’t care. You always think the worst of me – all of you. Whatever I do, doesn’t make no difference.’
‘Your mother believes you.’
‘Yeah …’ Johnny’s mouth curved in the suggestion of a smirk, before resuming its habitual sullen shape.
‘And your father—’
‘My father.’ The word came out in a sneer, ‘He’s an old fool, and you know it.’
Stratton, caught off guard and cursing himself for mentioning Reg, stood up and went over to the window. Of course Johnny wasn’t stupid, and anyone with half an eye could see that Reg was a fool.
‘You think so,’ said Johnny, driving home his advantage. ‘And Uncle Donald. You despise him.’
Oh, Christ. Johnny had him, and Donald, bang to rights. I am making a complete balls-up of this, thought Stratton. He knew that the boy disliked his father, but he had no idea that his and Donald’s feelings were so clear – but then, a determinedly straight face could be just as much of a giveaway as an eye-rolling grimace. What the hell could he say? Now Johnny had the upper hand, and he was the one caught on the hop. Feeling the boy’s eyes boring into him, he said, in an attempt to salvage the situation, ‘We don’t despise him, Johnny, it’s just …’
‘I know how it is.’ Johnny’s tone was flat. ‘If you’re going to give me some speech about how grown-ups don’t always get along and difficult times and all that, you can save it. Dad may be stupid, but I’m not.’
‘I know you’re not,’ said Stratton, ‘but – leaving aside your dad – you are in a fix.’
‘Who says I am?’
‘Your mother is very worried about you.’
‘She’s no need to be. I’ve told her I’m getting another job.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yeah. Next week.’
‘What is it?’
‘Dekker’s.’
‘Why would Dekker’s employ you? Mr Hartree isn’t going to give you a reference.’
‘Trusts me, doesn’t he? Unlike some. I’m going to train as a mechanic.’
‘Why would Mr Dekker want another mechanic with everyone’s car up on blocks?’
‘His other bloke’s been called up, that’s why.’
‘I can check, you know.’
‘You do that. Like I said, I don’t care.’
‘Well, I do, and so does your Mum. She overheard you talking – boasting you’d killed someone. I’m sure it isn’t true,’ Stratton
laughed, ‘you wouldn’t know the first thing about it, but all the same, it’s not very clever to go around saying things like that.’
This stung, as Stratton had intended it to. ‘I know more than you think,’ said Johnny sulkily. ‘You think I’m too young and too stupid to know things, but I’m not.’
‘You’re giving a pretty good impression of it.’
‘I’m not.’ Johnny glared at him.
‘Yes,’ said Stratton gently, ‘you are. You don’t want people to think you’re a fool, do you?’
‘They don’t think I’m a fool,’ said Johnny. ‘They respect me.’
‘Who does?’
‘People.’
‘People respect you,’ repeated Stratton. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. Is that because they’re scared you’re going to kill them, too?’
‘I never said …’ Johnny tailed off, uncertain now.
‘You never said you didn’t. “Some old girl up west”. Easy to kill an old woman, was it? Good fun?’
‘I didn’t say that!’
‘Your mother heard you. Telling your chums they’d better watch out because you’d done a murder.’
‘I never meant it.’
‘Didn’t you? Then you were a fool to say you’d done it, weren’t you?’ Johnny hung his head. ‘Tell me about this old girl,’ said Stratton. ‘What was she like?’
‘She wasn’t …’ The boy wasn’t looking at him now. Instead, his eyes flitted round the room as if he were seeking a way of escape.
‘Wasn’t what?’ Stratton prompted.
‘Nothing. I told you. I didn’t do it.’
‘Then who did?’
‘Nobody! I made it up. I never meant it.’ Still, he didn’t look at Stratton. ‘I was being stupid,’ he mumbled at the floor. ‘Like you said.’
‘Were you, Johnny? Look at me.’
Johnny raised his head a couple of inches, then dropped it again. ‘I haven’t done nothing.’
‘Another mistake, was it? Somebody else’s fault?’
‘No … It wasn’t anything. I never meant it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes! Look, Uncle Ted, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go out now.’
He took his jacket from the hook on the back of the door.
‘Going to see your friend Mr Wallace?’
Johnny froze, his hand on the door handle, then turned back to face Stratton. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, then yanked the door open and clattered down the stairs and out of the house. Stratton watched him run down the street. The boy knew something about Mabel. He may not – God, let this be true – have had a hand in her death, but he did know something.