back of that police car and on her way to the station for questioning and God alone knew where
after that. A woman already scorned by her in-laws, with no mother of her own for comfort. And what of her daughter? If she
hadn’t come to the funeral with her mother, where was Velma? All I could hope was that Pearl would tell the coppers so they
could look after her. But that had to depend upon what, indeed, Pearl and Velma had been doing on the night that Kevin died.
I rode back to the shop with Albert in his motor. Hearses are classed as ‘essential’ transport so he can, most of the time,
get the petrol he needs. Makes me wonder sometimes what I’m still doing with the horses. But as the Duchess always says, some
people prefer horses and the dung comes in useful for Walter’s allotment – something we all occasionally benefit from.
‘I reckon me and old Kevin’ll be back at the East London before the week’s out,’ Albert said. ‘Murder or no murder, the coppers
ain’t got nowhere to keep bodies now. Morgue situation just don’t get no better.’
‘No.’
‘You reckon she done it then, Pearl Dooley?’ Albert said.
I was looking out of the window at the time. It had begun to drizzle now. It made the houses out on Grange Road look even
more miserable than they usually do. Funny the way places around cemeteries always look like that. Even if the people who
live in them are happy types.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘She told me she loved him and I think that maybe she did in her way. And even if she did kill
him there has to be more than a chance that she was only protecting herself. Kevin Dooley was not, as you’ve said, Albert,
anyone’s angel.’
‘Bloody right. Vicious bastard. Mind you, if she did do it the same way as her mum, don’t ’arf give you the creeps, don’t
it?’
Yes, it did. People don’t like that sort of thing, in my experience. Murder in the blood. Puts you in mind of madness in the
family or disease or any other type of ill the average bloke can come up against. If something is passed on through the blood
it means people can’t have any control over it. And that is frightening.
I looked out of the window again and wondered where Pearl’s sister Ruby might be now. God forgive me, I also wondered whether
Shlomo Kaplan had had any other wounds apart from those to his head. After all, as far as I knew, the last person who could’ve
seen him alive before the air raid, apart from Ruby, was Bessie Stern when she went to get her neighbours into the shelter.
But Bessie had admitted she hadn’t seen him. Could the old man have been dead before the raid started? Could Ruby Reynolds
have killed him? If she had, not to take any money and, further, to return to the scene of her crime when the raid was over,
seemed stupid to me. And why, later, when the police were called, had she run away? If she were innocent, that had to be just
plain daft. All I could think of by way of a reason was her mother’s crime and the connections the police might make between
itand Ruby. Back again to the idea that killing runs in the blood. But as I know only too well, people, even coppers, like to
think that lots of things exist in the blood. Frightening though it is, it’s easy to understand. It also helps ‘nice’ people
make the separation between themselves and all the ‘bad’ people. Rubbish! In my case, when I was a nipper, it was selling
carpets. We have a few of the Indian men selling carpets door to door around this manor – Johnny Boys, they’re called – the
Duchess has one in for tea sometimes, Mr Bhadwaj. Despite my dad and his business, that was what some of the kids at school
saw me doing when I grew up. I was brown, so carpet-selling had to be in my blood. It was worse at the grammar school, maybe
because more of the kids there had parents who could afford to buy carpets, of any sort, and look down their noses at the
Johnny
after that. A woman already scorned by her in-laws, with no mother of her own for comfort. And what of her daughter? If she
hadn’t come to the funeral with her mother, where was Velma? All I could hope was that Pearl would tell the coppers so they
could look after her. But that had to depend upon what, indeed, Pearl and Velma had been doing on the night that Kevin died.
I rode back to the shop with Albert in his motor. Hearses are classed as ‘essential’ transport so he can, most of the time,
get the petrol he needs. Makes me wonder sometimes what I’m still doing with the horses. But as the Duchess always says, some
people prefer horses and the dung comes in useful for Walter’s allotment – something we all occasionally benefit from.
‘I reckon me and old Kevin’ll be back at the East London before the week’s out,’ Albert said. ‘Murder or no murder, the coppers
ain’t got nowhere to keep bodies now. Morgue situation just don’t get no better.’
‘No.’
‘You reckon she done it then, Pearl Dooley?’ Albert said.
I was looking out of the window at the time. It had begun to drizzle now. It made the houses out on Grange Road look even
more miserable than they usually do. Funny the way places around cemeteries always look like that. Even if the people who
live in them are happy types.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘She told me she loved him and I think that maybe she did in her way. And even if she did kill
him there has to be more than a chance that she was only protecting herself. Kevin Dooley was not, as you’ve said, Albert,
anyone’s angel.’
‘Bloody right. Vicious bastard. Mind you, if she did do it the same way as her mum, don’t ’arf give you the creeps, don’t
it?’
Yes, it did. People don’t like that sort of thing, in my experience. Murder in the blood. Puts you in mind of madness in the
family or disease or any other type of ill the average bloke can come up against. If something is passed on through the blood
it means people can’t have any control over it. And that is frightening.
I looked out of the window again and wondered where Pearl’s sister Ruby might be now. God forgive me, I also wondered whether
Shlomo Kaplan had had any other wounds apart from those to his head. After all, as far as I knew, the last person who could’ve
seen him alive before the air raid, apart from Ruby, was Bessie Stern when she went to get her neighbours into the shelter.
But Bessie had admitted she hadn’t seen him. Could the old man have been dead before the raid started? Could Ruby Reynolds
have killed him? If she had, not to take any money and, further, to return to the scene of her crime when the raid was over,
seemed stupid to me. And why, later, when the police were called, had she run away? If she were innocent, that had to be just
plain daft. All I could think of by way of a reason was her mother’s crime and the connections the police might make between
itand Ruby. Back again to the idea that killing runs in the blood. But as I know only too well, people, even coppers, like to
think that lots of things exist in the blood. Frightening though it is, it’s easy to understand. It also helps ‘nice’ people
make the separation between themselves and all the ‘bad’ people. Rubbish! In my case, when I was a nipper, it was selling
carpets. We have a few of the Indian men selling carpets door to door around this manor – Johnny Boys, they’re called – the
Duchess has one in for tea sometimes, Mr Bhadwaj. Despite my dad and his business, that was what some of the kids at school
saw me doing when I grew up. I was brown, so carpet-selling had to be in my blood. It was worse at the grammar school, maybe
because more of the kids there had parents who could afford to buy carpets, of any sort, and look down their noses at the
Johnny
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