“Do you think the man knew about his brother-in-law and the paint at that point?” said Caldwell.
“He knew what sort of man Jimmy Robertson was. He knew he was a criminal—but remember, they had served together, had gone over the top into battle together. They were connected by the horrors they’d seen, and by the fact that they both came home. I believe that as time went on—and of course, Phil married Sally Robertson—Phil did his utmost to turn a blind eye to the way Jimmy Robertson operated. And Robertson looked after the family, providing many little extras that make life easier. I believe Phil at some point began to doubt Jimmy, and he had to face up to the reality that the man is very dangerous indeed. He couldn’t go straight to Jimmy about Joe, because he knew, deep down, that Jimmy cared only about number one. So, he came to me. Phil Coombes came to me only to say he was worried about his son. And if I found Joe safe and well—all to the better. But if not, then there was a detachment—it wouldn’t be Phil who shopped Jimmy, it would be me. If luck held, Joe would come back, everyone would keep their mouths shut and life would go on. And as far as Phil and Sally Coombes were concerned, Jimmy had done more than provide those little extras I mentioned—he made sure both Archie and Joe were in reserved occupations. Vivian did well for herself, but there was always pressure to do anything she could for Uncle Jimmy—and that was probably true of the whole family.”
Caldwell nodded. Maisie thought she had never seen him look so drawn. “Detective Inspector Murphy has brought in the painting crew, and Freddie Mayes has been charged with accessory to murder, following his confession today. He was acting on the instructions of Jimmy Robertson, who—it transpires—showed his face, along with Mike Yates, at their lodgings in Whitchurch. They wanted Joe to be quiet about his headaches, and—according to Yates—they told young Joe that it would be very bad form for his parents to know he wasn’t pulling his weight in the job. We’re getting enough to put Robertson away, and we hope for a long, long time. He has been brought in and is cooling his heels in a cell, though his brief is coming in to see him soon—the one who has had a fair bit of luck in allowing him to slide off our shovel in the past. Anyway, he’s not been charged, but we have time. I just didn’t want him to go anywhere. Not that getting away to the Continent is a good idea at the moment.”
“I see—and what about the Bank of England?”
“Yes, that. All very interesting, I must say.” He shook his head and gave a satisfied chuckle. “Young Archie had what he thought was a bright idea when he went down to see his brother, and it came to his attention that there was money in the area, quite literally. He considered the possibilities and thought he might be able to make himself a lieutenant in his uncle’s business if he had a potentially lucrative plan. He was scared of Robertson, but decided that if he could make himself more valuable, he’d be safer, and his opinions would carry more weight. He’s admitted he tried to get Joe involved, but Joe didn’t want to have anything to do with any cockeyed plans involving robbery. Now, Jimmy Robertson likes a good idea resulting in great sums of cash coming his way as much as the next villain, but he also knows when it becomes a nonstarter. He considered Archie’s plan, looked at it from all angles, and then thought better of it.”
“It distracted me for a while, I must admit—though I always felt it might turn out to be important. My mistake,” said Maisie.
“Oh, it could end up being important—as another nail in Jimmy Robertson’s coffin. We know he eventually dismissed the plans, but at first he couldn’t ignore information about large sums of money going to and fro between London and Hampshire. Robertson and his boys were interested enough to put some quite detailed plans on paper and ask Archie to get more information before deciding the risks outweighed the benefits—and those incriminating papers were found in Archie’s gaff with Robertson’s scrawl across every page, along with his signature because he loved his name so much. Bit of a narcissist, is Robertson, and those papers signify intention, which is important, because he’s been up for armed robbery more than once—so you might say they’re a tool. And while we’re about it—I’ve never known a lad of Archie Coombes’ age to put so much into where he dosses down. This lad had his digs decked out like he was a matinee idol.”
“I think he just wanted something more out of life,” said Maisie.
“Don’t we all?” replied Caldwell.
They discussed the revenue Robertson and Yates had brought in from the business of painting commercial buildings with the diluted fire retardant, and the fact that most were owned by people coerced into agreeing to the work by Robertson. The racket amounted to a pretty sum for the Robertson coffers. Maisie made a further statement, recounting how she had witnessed two lorries unloading and reloading stores on a country road close to the aerodrome where Teddy Wickham was stationed. It was not firm evidence, but enough to support deeper investigation. At the point where Caldwell began to shuffle his pages of notes, with only a few more questions left for Maisie to answer, there was a knock at the door, and a uniformed policeman entered.
“Oh sorry, guv, didn’t know you had a visitor,” said the policeman. “I thought you’d finished taking a statement in one of the interview rooms and was back up here on your own.”
“I can take a statement here, where Miss Dobbs is concerned—she’s one of our special advisers.”
“I’m just going round collecting for DC Able, sir. To send something to his mum and dad. They’re having a memorial service at their local church, and a few of the lads are going, especially on account of his dad.”
Caldwell took out his wallet at the same time Maisie reached for her purse. The sergeant thanked them for their contributions, and left the room.
“Able’s dad is in the force, you know,” said Caldwell. “He was on the beat, but he’s now a desk sergeant, out in Essex. I was told he always wanted his son to follow in his footsteps, so of course he was really chuffed when young Able came to work at the Yard. It had been his ambition, when he was a lad, but he never quite made it out of the village. I bet he wishes his boy had stayed here.”
“Yes,” said Maisie. “Yes, I’m sure he does.”
Epilogue
Billy was waiting, pacing back and forth along the Embankment when Maisie came out of Scotland Yard.
“All right, miss? I suppose that’s that. It seems they’ve got Jimmy Robertson cornered, though I must say, that Flying Squad bloke looks more like a bit of a villain himself—no wonder they call them the Sweeney Todd!”
“It’s getting into the criminal mind that does it,” said Maisie.
“But you don’t look like a criminal—well, not all the time.” Billy grinned, pleased with his quip.
“Thank you very much!” said Maisie. “How’s your Billy getting on?”
“I forgot to tell you—he’s been given another nine days leave by the docs. They reckon he needs extra time to get over that shoulder, and then he’ll be right as rain. They don’t want blokes with one shoulder up and one shoulder down on the parade ground, and to be honest with you, I think another week or two at home will do him good. Mind you, it’s going to take longer than a few weeks for him to get over what he saw in France—and don’t I know it.”
“Then take the week off, Billy—it’s time you had a holiday. There’s no need to come into the office.”
“But what about the work? We’ve got new business to consider.”
“Make your calls, tell the clients that you are recommencing investigations in a week or so. There’s no need to go to Fitzroy Square.”