*****
The old man shuffled wearily along the empty street, making his way home from a long night’s work. He walked past the chicken slaughterhouse. Two dogs were rifling through a barrel that they had managed to upturn, scavenging through the carcasses and chicken feet they had spilled out onto the pavement. So engrossed with eating they did not hear the old man approach.
‘Git out of it.’ He roared at them. They ran a few yards with their tails between their legs, stopped and turned, hunger making them braver than normal. They barked at the old man until he raised his walking stick and they fled. He crossed the street to avoid stepping in the putrid mess around the barrel.
He passed a low brick wall on his right hand side when something bright red caught his eye. Always on the lookout for items discarded or lost that he could make a few bob on he took two steps closer. He picked it up. It was a woman’s red shoe; he looked over the wall to see if the other one was there.
‘Oh my Lord,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Help, call the police, there is a dead woman here.’
6.2
‘I have come to visit Joshua Andrews.’ Levi signed his name in the register and waited. Josh appeared holding his book. His expression changed when he realised it wasn’t Sinclair.
‘Hello Joshua, do you remember me?’ Levi asked him. Josh didn’t reply, he turned his head and looked like he was going to walk back into the building.
‘Joshua, I am your Uncle Levi.’ Josh stared at the man standing in front of him.
‘Come into the garden and sit with me I have to tell you something.’ Josh still didn’t move. Levi tried again patiently.
‘It’s about Sergeant Major Sinclair. Joshua.’ Josh looked up at the mention of Sinclair’s name.
‘Josh!’
‘I’m sorry what?’ Asked Levi.
‘Josh, nobody calls me Joshua any more. My name is Josh.’ Levi smiled,
‘Sorry Josh, it has been a long time. I haven’t seen you since you were a small boy.’
‘I don’t remember you. I don’t remember an Uncle Levi.’
‘Well I am not your real Uncle but your father and I were best friends in Russia. Sorry my English is not so good, can we speak Russian?’
‘I don’t speak Russian anymore.’ Josh stated firmly.
Josh allowed Levi to walk him to the Rose garden where they sat on a bench. A tall man stood some yards away smoking. He watched Levi speak quietly with Josh and then the boy, overcome with grief, cry on his shoulder as they sat there. Levi looked around as he patted his arm and saw the tall man watching him.
‘I have just told him his friend has died.’ He said. The tall man nodded, finished his cigarette and walked back inside the building. Josh sat with Levi for another thirty minutes. The older man talking softly to the boy who nodded as he sobbed. Josh stood up and walked slowly back into the main building.
‘I will see you tomorrow Josh.’ Levi called after him. Levi looked around; the garden was emptying, the bell sounding the end of the visiting hour. He walked along the left hand side of the building towards the back of the Hospital. He stopped in front of the rear entrance door and looked around at the high walls that obscured the door from the main road and the streets nearby.
‘Can I help you, boss?’ Somebody called out. Levi turned towards the voice, startled. A stocky middle-aged man called out to him as he opened the door to let a doctor out. The doctor stopped and spoke to the man as he left,
‘Where is the regular doorman, the old one who has been here for years? I haven’t seen him all week.’
‘He died, Sir, I am the new doorman now.’ Answered the man in a strong Eastern European accent.
‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ Said the doctor. The doorman watched him walk away and then turned to Levi and said.
‘The old man opened the door for him twice a day for the last six years and he didn’t even know his name.’ He shook his head. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Sorry, I must have got a bit lost; can I get into the building here?’ Levi asked.
‘Sorry guvnor, you can’t come through this way, it’s only for the doctors and staff. Anyway, this part of the building is where they keep the dangerous ones; you don’t want to come in here. All visitors have to go around to the main entrance.’ Said Tyler’s replacement. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t realise.’ Said Levi. He tipped his hat, walked back around to the main building, then left the grounds, and walked slowly towards the main gate into Bethnal Green High Street. He strolled along to Whitechapel High Street. The whole street was crowded; it was the Sunday market. He walked along, dodging between people, street vendors beckoned to him like a long lost cousin. The stalls stacked with a variety of goods lined up next to each other in no order. A vegetable stall next to a man selling brushes, next to a woman selling meat calling out as she fanned the flies away, next to a man sharpening knifes with a foot driven stone wheel.
Children ran around the stalls playing tag or stealing empty fruit crates to turn into imaginary boats. A laughing fat man selling meat pies scolded a couple of urchins that ran into the back of his legs. Levi smiled as he watched the antics. It wasn’t an English street market he was looking at, he could have been anywhere in Europe and seen the same thing. Levi thought happily. ‘Walking along the High Street is like being back home.’ He stopped several times to buy small snacks, he couldn’t help himself, each time he smelled another treat that he had to taste. Eventually, full up, he got to his destination, The White Hart Pub.
One small beer for himself and two large shots of Gin for the new barmaid was all it took to find out everything he wanted to know. It was early and the pub wasn’t busy, she had a lot of time on her hands and went into detail about everything that had happened to her predecessor, including the way she was killed. Levi decided he had enough information so he said Goodbye and left. He crossed the main Road, jumping out of the way of a handsome cab that was in a hurry to get somewhere. Then he walked down three smaller, quieter roads until he reached Jubilee Street. He found the number he was looking for and tapped on the door.
‘’Hello Mrs Rosen, my name is Levi.’ He said as she opened the door. She looked at him suspiciously.
‘I don’t buy at the door, so if you are selling something you may as well go now.’ She said firmly. Levi gave her his friendliest smile.
‘No I’m not selling anything, I am working for a private individual who would like to know some more details about your neighbour Mr Sinclair.’
‘You’re not a policeman then? How do I know you don’t want to get in my home and kill me?’
Levi decided it was better not to laugh at her.
‘I don’t need to come in Mrs Rosen, I am happy to stay here, but could I ask you a few questions about that night please?’
‘You’re from the newspapers aren’t you? I can tell,’ she smiled, opened the door slightly further and leant out whispering.
‘How much are you paying for the story?’ Levi was taken aback with the question. Then he realised what she meant. He took out a ten-shilling note and handed it to her.
‘Half an hour of your time?’ He asked. She opened the door and let him in. They sat talking for two.
Levi handed his report to the pie and mash owner and tucked into his food. The potato burnt his mouth and he spat it out onto the plate.
‘God that was hot.’ He complained.
6.3
Gur Lavi handed Jacobson the report. Jacobson put his spectacles on and read it carefully. He looked up.
‘Have you read this yet?’ Jacobson asked.
‘No.’
‘The boy thinks he saw Mikael’s brother in Bethnal Green Sanatorium, the note was written in the pub and the Policeman was simply delivering the note here.’
‘Impossible, the boy only saw him once, a long time before in Africa. He was confused and disorientated. How can he be so sure?’ Jacobson replied softly
‘We wil
l confirm this properly. You know what this means. If Mikael’s brother is insane, there can be no marriage.’ A knock on the door interrupted them. It was a servant.
‘There are two gentlemen here for your meeting Lord Jacobson, shall I ask them in?’ Jacobson checked the time on his pocket watch.
‘Yes bring them in here and bring back some refreshments. Jacobson motioned Gur Lavi to leave.
‘Thank Levi for me and ask him to see if Mikael’s brother really is in there.’ Jacobson stood up and shook hands with the two men who entered. He gestured them to sit down. One spoke immediately, a small fat man, balding slightly, gold Pince-nez glasses hanging from his lapel.
‘Lord Jacobson, I will come straight to the point. Your East End redevelopment scheme is going nowhere. We are here to make a proposal.’ Jacobson was taken aback by the man’s outburst. He replied angrily.
‘Oh you are, are you, and, who the devil are you to make that assumption?’ The second of the visitors, a larger man with grey hair and thick sideburns butted in. ‘My apologies to you, Lord Jacobson. My colleague and I are not English. He has only a rudimentary knowledge of our language and meant no offense.’ Jacobson calmed down slightly and spoke directly to the larger man.
‘Then Sir, I suggest you continue with your proposal, instead of him.’ The larger man coughed embarrassingly, spoke briefly to his colleague and sat down.
‘What my colleague was trying to say was that, so far you have not had much success persuading investors in your plan. We are here on behalf of, let me just say, “a very influential private housing society,” we have purchased several plots within the area that you are trying to redevelop.’
‘I know who you are,’ Jacobson said coldly. ‘So what is stopping you from building new housing? The Government has paved the way for you to begin and you purchased the land almost two years ago.’
‘Well, it is a logistic problem actually,’ he stopped unsure of how to continue. ‘Basically we need more land to make it economically viable.’
‘Why can’t you just build as you go along?’
‘Because, once we build new housing, it will increase the land value of the surrounding land and buildings.’ Jacobson realised quickly what they were telling him.
‘So before you begin, you need most of the land in Whitechapel?’
‘Not most of it Lord Jacobson, we want all of it.’ The small fat man said.
‘Then what exactly are you doing here, what do you want from me?’
‘We would like you to lobby the Government on our behalf, push for compulsory purchase orders, to demolish unsafe buildings and slums, that type of thing.’
‘Compulsory purchase orders, which then, by law have to be offered at auction to private dwelling societies, such as yours. Why should I line your pockets?’ Jacobson asked.
‘We will donate a very large sum into your re development program, assisting with health care, sanitation and lighting, in fact everything except the actual building and renting of the dwellings. But we need more land, either with buildings on or empty plots, before we will turn one spade of earth.’
‘I am considering offering a reward for the person responsible for the recent Whitechapel murders, are you willing to assist?’
The two men spoke together in a strange language Jacobson could not understand. The conversation grew heated and the men argued for several minutes before they finished.
‘I am sorry but we cannot help you with a reward for the killer.’
‘Why ever not?’ asked Jacobson. ‘Surely, it makes sound business sense to have a safe environment to rent your houses.’
‘Yes, but only after we acquire the land, since the murders have started, house prices have dropped and many landlords who were originally resistant to sell, now want to get rid of their properties and move out to safer areas of London,’ he smiled as he continued. ‘Actually the killer has moved things along for us at a tremendous pace.’
‘Are you mad?’ Jacobson was horrified with what he had just heard.
‘No, Lord Jacobson, we are definitely not mad. We are businessmen just like you.’ Jacobson was furious.
‘You dare to compare your sordid business ethics with mine? In the midst of all this suffering, you people will still find a way to make a profit. Get out of my house, and you can tell Lord Roth….’
‘We did not say who we represent Lord Jacobson.’ The small man interrupted him. Jacobson stopped himself from speaking the name. Instead, he calmly said.
‘Please leave my house and do not return.’
He poured a drink and swallowed it in one. He thought about the conversation and got angry. He cursed them, threw his glass into the fireplace, and shouted.
‘This murderer must be stopped by any means. He must be stopped now.’