BooksBarbecue
Back Invitation to Die Save as PDF
Chapters (27)
  1. Chapter 1
  2. Chapter 2
  3. Chapter 3
  4. Chapter 4
  5. Chapter 5
  6. Chapter 6
  7. Chapter 7
  8. Chapter 8
  9. Chapter 9
  10. Chapter 10
  11. Chapter 11
  12. Chapter 12
  13. Chapter 13
  14. Chapter 14
  15. Chapter 15
  16. Chapter 16
  17. Chapter 17
  18. Chapter 18
  19. Chapter 19
  20. Chapter 20
  21. Chapter 21
  22. Chapter 22
  23. Chapter 23
  24. Chapter 24
  25. Chapter 25
  26. Chapter 26
  27. Chapter 27

The old lady came along with the maid to see him to the door. As he was handed his hat, MacFarlane looked at the strange pair, women from a past century playing out well-rehearsed parts. He had the unsettling feeling that, once the door had closed behind him, they would fade away and dissolve, leaving no more than a trace of mothballs in the air. He read a mute and hopeless defiance in their eyes. They knew all but could determine nothing. A woman who had lost her husband and two sons, was about to lose a third and—possibly worst of all—was about to lose her much-loved grandson to . . . what? To the sophistication of the south, to the rarefied uplands of academia, to the bear pit of politics, or to the remorseless attentions of Superintendent MacFarlane, CID?

They must not see the pity in his eyes, he thought. He could at least spare these proud women that insult. He took his hat and with an ancient flourish swept it across his front and bowed. Without irony. They bobbed their heads in response. He straightened up, winked and said cheerfully, “Cede nullis, eh, ladies? A Yorkshire motto, and a good one. Embroider that and hang it over your beds. And thank you so much for the bilberry cordial! An excellent vintage!”

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Barnsley, Yorkshire, Thursday,
the 22nd of May, 1924

A hangover and a late night were not the best preparation for interviewing a man who made his living from bookmaking; MacFarlane knew that. And warning enough perhaps that the man’s nickname, according to the notes sent down, was “Ratty.” MacFarlane would read nothing into that until he’d met the man. He rather approved of rats. Survivors, they were. Intelligent scavengers and good parents. He’d studied their habits in the trenches and knew why they held such horror for most. But “bookmaking”? The profession—and that was a flattering term, rarely attached to the world of gambling—was thriving again now that the men were back home. Ratty Merriman was involved with what was technically an illegal activity, something the Betting Act of 1906 had done little to eliminate or even restrain. It was increasingly popular, and it was tolerated by the police—when necessary. MacFarlane knew that bribery was rife in most of the county forces, and so long as their activities were performed with some discretion, the bookies could thumb their noses cheerfully at the law.

“Mm, Park Parade. This is the place. I wonder which one of these emporia is acting as the front for the ponies?” he muttered to himself as they drew up outside a recently built row of shops.

“The one at the end on the left. Ease of access or egress.” The driver grinned. “Basilio, the barber of Milan. You can get a haircut and lose your shirt at the same time.”