CHAPTER 1

20 February 1929

The constable had come into the Central Office of Scotland Yard and told Henry that he had a visitor waiting downstairs in reception.

'A gentleman, sir. His name is Abraham Levy and he says that you know him. He requests a few minutes of your time.'

It took Henry a moment or so to remember who Abraham Levy was and then a moment more to wonder why on earth he had come all the way to the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard, instead of taking his problems to the local division. Henry tidied the files on his desk and then went down to see what the clockmaker wanted.

Abraham Levy had cropped up in an earlier investigation, but only as the landlord of someone whose unfortunate death Henry had investigated. Detective Chief Inspector Henry Johnstone recalled that he had spoken to Abraham Levy only on a couple of occasions but that he had liked the man.

Abraham had seen him coming down the stairs and unfolded himself from the hard wooden bench set near the door, an uncomfortable seat and draughty spot that Henry always assumed was established to dissuade anyone from staying too long. Abraham held out his hand; Henry shook it and then sat down beside Abraham.

'I can try to find some office space so that we can talk or we can chat here. The constable said this would only take a few moments.'

If Abraham was put out by this slightly dismissive attitude, he did not show it. Instead, he set his hat on his lap and folded his hands neatly behind it and looked at Henry carefully. 'When we met, it struck me that you are a just and careful man,' Abraham said. 'Some policemen I have known, they go through the motions only. They look as though they are doing something and they collect their pay and they go home and nothing has been done, but I do not think you are that kind of man. I come to you because so far I have only met that kind of policeman and I need someone different. Someone who will not just pretend to be concerned and go away thinking, "Oh, this is just a Jew boy I'm dealing with, so what concern is this of mine?"'

Henry considered for a moment and then he said, 'I think you might begin at the beginning.' He stood. 'There is a café just around the corner; perhaps this might be better discussed over a pot of tea.'

He glanced up, catching sight of a familiar figure coming down the stairs: his sergeant, Mickey Hitchens, who looked curiously in their direction and then clearly recognized Abraham.

'Mr Levy,' he said. 'And what brings you here?'

'A problem I cannot deal with on my own.'

Mickey frowned. The streets where Abraham Levy lived had been ruled by one Josiah Bailey and his family for quite some time, but had recently undergone a change of ownership – although the new ruler, Clem Atkins, had simply taken over both Bailey's lieutenants and his criminal schemes. It was Mickey's first thought that this was the source of the trouble.

'No,' Abraham reassured him. 'Mr Atkins continues the work of Mr Bailey, you might say. Little has changed and the protection money we pay as businessmen has not gone up dramatically since the change of management. No, this is a personal matter. A missing person. I fear perhaps a dead missing person, and as no one else will help me, I have come to you.'

They walked to the Lyons' Corner House that was set on the intersection of the Strand and Craven Street, and Henry ordered tea for them all. At two in the afternoon, they were between the crowds of lunchtime rush and the partakers of afternoon tea, and they found a table in a corner with a fair degree of privacy.

'So, tell me,' Henry said. 'Who has gone missing, and why do you feel that no one has been of assistance to you?'

Abraham arranged his cup carefully on his saucer, positioning the spoon so that it protruded at the opposite side to the cup handle. He looked suddenly awkward. He had long, slender hands, Henry noted, with well-clipped nails. Hands that were used to being occupied now found themselves ill at ease.

'On the third of this month my nephew caught a train,' Abraham began. 'His name is Joseph and he had been to visit his young lady – his intended. They are both young – Joseph is only nineteen years old and his fiancée is a year younger than that – and they are to be married in the autumn.'

'It is very young to be married,' Mickey observed.

'In our community, not so young. We think it's better that our children are safely married and have someone to care for and to care for them. Young ones often spend time living with their in-laws until they are ready to set up home for themselves. Anyway, Joseph and Rebecca are to be married – or were. Then Joseph caught the train to come home and he did not arrive.'

Mickey took out his notebook and set it on the table. 'The train from where?'

'He was travelling from Lincoln to London. He caught the train in Lincoln; Rebecca's family saw him off there, so they know he got on the train. But he did not arrive.'

'That's a long journey,' Henry observed. 'He could have got off at any station in between. From what I remember, there are a great many going up towards Lincoln. Where would he have changed trains to come back to London?'

'At Peterborough. Lincoln is on the loop from the main line that leaves Peterborough and, yes, there are a great many small stations on that line. Once in Peterborough, he could get the train back to King's Cross – an easy journey, if a little long, but one he has made more than a dozen times.

'His family contacted the police and were told that he was an adult and that adults go missing all the time and there should be no cause for concern; he would probably turn up. His family contacted the girl's family, in Lincoln, and were told that he and Rebecca had argued before he left and had parted on bad terms. When the police heard this, they decided that the boy was not so keen on the marriage, after all, and had chosen to go off on his own somewhere.'

'It's certainly possible,' Mickey said. 'As I said before, they are both very young, and young minds can be changed – young people can be impulsive.'

'All of that is true,' Abraham agreed. 'But that was on Sunday February the third and this is now Wednesday the twentieth. There has been no news since. He has not contacted his family or his fiancée or his friends. I know Joseph; he is not a boy who would put worry into the hearts of those he loves. If he had decided he did not want to marry, everyone would have understood. No one is being forced into this. But I do believe that he and Rebecca love one another.'

'How long have they known each other?' Henry asked.

'Since childhood. Our families grew up within a few houses of one another. Then Rebecca's family moved when she was twelve years old, but Joseph used to go up and stay there, and it was always understood that one day they would marry. But if either one of them had said no, we prefer to choose for ourselves, that would have been accepted, believe me.'

'But it would have caused awkwardness, at the very least, I would suppose?' Mickey suggested.

Abraham shrugged. 'Awkwardness for a little time, perhaps, but it would have been accepted and people would have got over their upset. No one wishes our young people to marry and be unhappy. But we believed them to be happy.'

'What was the quarrel about?'

Abraham hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with discussing his family business. 'The argument was loud,' he said. 'The family overheard, of course. It seems that Rebecca wished to wait until at least next spring before they married. She said it was because her sister and brother-in-law would be coming to visit then and she wanted them to be at the wedding. Joseph was content to wait, but he did not believe her reasons and he challenged them. He asked if she really wanted to marry him, and she became angry, saying of course she did, but that she wished to wait just a little longer. Rebecca's mother tells me that Joseph tried to be understanding and calm, and he suggested to her that she just had the usual reservations and that this was understandable. He said that he would be willing to wait, but Rebecca just became even more angry until Joseph said that he didn't believe this was her reason at all, and that maybe she had another man.'

'And is that likely?'

'Not that anyone knows about, but young girls ...' He shrugged again. 'Young men, too – their heads can be turned by the attention of someone who seems more exciting. So I don't know. It's possible. But she's a good girl and I don't believe she would deliberately hurt either Joseph or her family.'

'And no one at all has had word from him? Friends might have heard and not told anyone?'

'None of Joseph's friends are so heartless. They have seen how we've all suffered, how worried we've been. His friends are also people he has known since childhood, who have known his family since childhood. We are a close-knit community, Inspector.'

'Which might make him even more fearful of your disapprobation,' Henry suggested. 'Did he have any money with him?'

'Not enough to have lasted all this time. He had enough for his journey, and emergency money, should he have to stay overnight somewhere, but little enough else.'

'And have the police investigated?'

'Investigated! Is that what you call it? They confirmed that he got on the train at Lincoln – there are witnesses aplenty for that – but as no one knows where he got off, all they could do – all they said they could do – was send a message down the line to ask at the stations. Our family have printed pictures and have these positioned at any stations that we have been able to reach, and Rebecca's family have done the same. Police refuse to believe this is anything more than a young man who has chosen to go off by himself for a time. They seem to have spoken to no one; they seem to have found no evidence of Joseph's existence after he left Lincoln.'

Mickey and Henry exchanged a glance. It seemed to them that all that could be done probably had been done. This was a big distance to search, and if there were no clues as to where the young man had left the train, then there would be no clues as to where he might have ended up.

'And have there been any communications, any witnesses who have seen the posters and might've seen him?'

Abraham shook his head. 'There have been a few individuals who have contacted our families to ask if there is a reward and who have obviously been giving us false information. Rambling stories that don't make any sense. We've ensured that one of the menfolk has spoken to each one of these, but it soon became clear that they are all deceivers. It does not help that we are Jews.'

Henry opened his mouth to object to that last sentence and then closed it again, thinking that Abraham was probably right. He witnessed anti-Semitism all the time in his work, most of it casual and unthinking, rather than deliberately targeted, but nonetheless ...

'Who is handling the case now?'

'Local constables in Lincoln and here. The railway police have been involved, of course.' He reached into his pocket and took out a list of names. 'These are the men we've had dealings with,' he said. 'No one has been helpful.'

'And I'm not sure we can be of any more use,' Mickey said frankly. 'He could have gone missing anywhere along that route. He could have made a deliberate decision to go away for a time, found himself some casual work and lodgings, and not want to be found.'

'And if that was the case, then we would leave him alone. But we would still need to know. You understand that?'

'Mr Levy – Abraham – we are murder detectives. This is not directly within our purview.'

Abraham regarded them solemnly. 'Joseph would not just go,' he insisted. 'Inspector, Sergeant Hitchens, believe me when I say that it is only a matter of time before this becomes your business. I believe that Joseph is dead. Had Joseph still been alive, he would have contacted his family; he would not have left them to suffer the way they have. He's a good boy ... Or he was a good boy. I am fearful – no, I am certain – that something bad has happened to him and that he is no longer alive.'

There was silence at the little table. Mickey picked up his cup, drained it and set it down gently. 'It would do no harm to call in the files,' he said. 'I can take a look on my own time, but for now, Abraham, that is all we can do. You understand that?'

The clockmaker nodded. 'When his body is found, which surely it must be sometime, you will need me to make introductions. As I've said, we are a close community and a closed one too in many ways; you will need someone from the inside of the community to open doors. You understand that?'

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that, eh?' Mickey said.

Abraham nodded, then retrieved his hat and took his leave.

'We both know he's right,' Henry said as the café door closed behind him.

'More than likely, but we also know there's not a lot we can do until a body turns up, and it's a long way from Lincoln to London; the boy could have got off anywhere – or been thrown off.' Mickey frowned.

'True,' Henry admitted. 'Perhaps he was having second thoughts about the wedding after the argument and has simply taken off somewhere. That would be an alternative.'

'Better to be heartbroken than a murder victim,' Mickey agreed. 'I'll call in the files from the various constabularies and the railway police, see what we can find out. I doubt there will be much.'

'And there is an outside chance that the boy may yet turn up,' Henry said, but he did not sound at all hopeful.

'He is just a boy,' Mickey said quietly. 'Though it's not long since boys of that age were deemed fit to be fodder for the machine guns and mortars.'

'And that was wrong,' Henry said flatly. 'And still is. No, you are right. If we don't look into it, no one else will. We'll give it an hour or two of our time – see if there is anything to be followed up. But, frankly, Mickey, I doubt there will be anything. Abraham will be as much in the dark after we have examined the files as he is now. And even if we do find something, unless the local constabulary ask for our help, we can still do nothing, and they will not ask unless the worst happens and a body is found.'

Mickey shrugged. 'Cross that bridge,' he said.

CHAPTER 2

Cynthia was packing. Her maid had directed Henry to the dressing room and, after kissing his sister, he dropped, with a deep sigh, into the green nursing chair beside the narrow stained-glass window.

'Sudden trip?' he asked.

'Decided this morning, at breakfast,' Cynthia confirmed. 'I am taking my husband away for a week or so. It's for his own good; he is becoming very morose.'

'And the reason for that?'

'The reason for that, Henry, is that he knows he has recently made some bad decisions and is being pressured into making more. My thinking is that if I take him away for a while, he'll have time to rehearse his polite refusal without the fear of getting it wrong and consequently losing face.'

'Hatry's mob?' Henry guessed.

'"Mob" is the right word for them,' Cynthia replied with some asperity. 'For all their titles and position, that's exactly what they are.'

'And how over-extended is Albert?'

'So far, within the bounds of what we can afford to lose without too many long-term regrets. To be truthful, Henry, I'm hoping this whole business is starting to sting. He can be a fool, that husband of mine, though there's no one else I'd say that to.'

Just before Christmas, Albert had been offered a 'sure-fire for certain' business opportunity by one Clarence Charles Hatry, who invited Albert to invest in his company, General Securities Limited, adding the bait that one of his main backers was Henry Paulet, Marquis of Winchester, a man Albert wanted to cultivate. Cynthia, doubtful that any deal was 'sure-fire' or 'for certain', had looked into the previous business dealings of this Hatry, and what she found had frightened her enough to warn Albert off. A multiple bankrupt who left in his wake penury and wrecked lives, but who always seemed to come out well himself.

Albert had abided by Cynthia's advice back then, but it seemed he was now under further pressure.

'So, where are you taking him?'

'As far away as I can. We catch the plane from Croydon airport tomorrow morning and will be in France by afternoon. I have arranged for a car to take us to Lyon.'

'Lyon?'

'First place I could think of. I told Albert I'd always wanted to see it. Malina was good enough to make the arrangements and do the bookings. That girl is a real treasure.'