ascertained the cause
of death. I assume he was seen by Marcus Cockburn?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Why?’ There’d been something in Dr O’Grady’s tone that suggested to me he didn’t entirely like or trust Dr
Cockburn. But I’d heard more than a few stories involving the police doctor and heavy drinking sessions.
Dr O’Grady, however, didn’t take that particular bait and went back to the subject of Kevin: ‘Some people don’t hold it together
as well as others during raids,’ he said. ‘Hecould have been raving when he talked about being stabbed.’
He could’ve been. Yes.
Dr O’Grady replaced the lid of the shell and took out his pipe again. ‘But I can see that you’re worried, Frank,’ he said,
‘and maybe with good reason. Perhaps this poor chap has been done to death by some woman he was seeing. But unless you or
Albert Cox want to take him up to the London then I can’t see how you can go any further with it. And, anyway, even if you
do go to the hospital with him, you won’t find anyone who will take any interest. He’s dead.’
He was right, of course. Not even the London Hospital was taking anything other than the most seriously ill now and even then
people only stayed there for as long as they couldn’t be moved. It wasn’t safe. Not that any of this helped me at all with
Kevin Dooley, who might or might not have been murdered.
Albert Cox turned up at near on six. He’s a lot shorter and fairer than I am, but we’re of an age, Albert and I, so we have
an understanding between us as well as professional respect. Cox’s undertakers haven’t been going for as long as our firm.
But they know what they’re doing and they’re a decent lot of lads.
‘I’ll take him round to the old girl’s in the morning,’ Albert said, after we’d loaded Kevin Dooley’s remains into the back
of his hearse. ‘With any luck the place’ll take a direct hit and I won’t have to bother with Kevin or his bleedin’ mother.’
I pointed out that this was hardly fair on Kevin’s children, which Albert did agree to, but he was unrepentant with regard
to the man and his mother. ‘Go to any pub in Canning Town, ask for Dooley and you’ll see what I mean,’ Albert said. ‘Been
slung out of every one.’
‘What for?’
Albert coughed, then lit up a fag. The mist was thick from the river that evening. ‘Scrapping,’ he said. ‘Kevin Dooley was
a scrapper. Man, woman or child – he didn’t care. Give one of my lads a black eye couple of years back in the Chandelier.
The mother’s no better and his brothers are animals.’
In view of what Albert’s opinions seemed to be about the Dooleys it didn’t seem worth launching into my story about Kevin
and his stab wound. He wouldn’t, I felt, have had a great deal of interest in what might or might not have occurred on that
mad, bomb-soaked night down in East Ham. Maybe I would just leave it alone, like Dr O’Grady had said. But I did tell Albert
about the man’s wife.
‘Poor girl,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Sometimes I’d see her, she could hardly open her eyes for the swelling.’
‘He beat her up?’
‘Well, somebody must’ve,’ Albert said. ‘Always in the family way, always with a black eye, that one. It was either Kevin or
his mother, probably Kevin. I think the old girl got her fun making a dog’s life for poor young Velma.’
Velma, it turned out, was the one Vi Dooley had called the ‘basket’, the one who was from the younger woman’s previous marriage.
She was, Albert reckoned, aboutfifteen. Not only had Velma had to clean up after her step-father and his mother, she’d had a lot to do with her nine half-brothers
and -sisters too.
According to Albert, having a lot of kiddies was important to Kevin. ‘Used to boast about what a man he was in any pub that’d
have him,’ he said, as he locked up the back of the hearse and climbed into the cab. ‘Bleedin’
of death. I assume he was seen by Marcus Cockburn?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Why?’ There’d been something in Dr O’Grady’s tone that suggested to me he didn’t entirely like or trust Dr
Cockburn. But I’d heard more than a few stories involving the police doctor and heavy drinking sessions.
Dr O’Grady, however, didn’t take that particular bait and went back to the subject of Kevin: ‘Some people don’t hold it together
as well as others during raids,’ he said. ‘Hecould have been raving when he talked about being stabbed.’
He could’ve been. Yes.
Dr O’Grady replaced the lid of the shell and took out his pipe again. ‘But I can see that you’re worried, Frank,’ he said,
‘and maybe with good reason. Perhaps this poor chap has been done to death by some woman he was seeing. But unless you or
Albert Cox want to take him up to the London then I can’t see how you can go any further with it. And, anyway, even if you
do go to the hospital with him, you won’t find anyone who will take any interest. He’s dead.’
He was right, of course. Not even the London Hospital was taking anything other than the most seriously ill now and even then
people only stayed there for as long as they couldn’t be moved. It wasn’t safe. Not that any of this helped me at all with
Kevin Dooley, who might or might not have been murdered.
Albert Cox turned up at near on six. He’s a lot shorter and fairer than I am, but we’re of an age, Albert and I, so we have
an understanding between us as well as professional respect. Cox’s undertakers haven’t been going for as long as our firm.
But they know what they’re doing and they’re a decent lot of lads.
‘I’ll take him round to the old girl’s in the morning,’ Albert said, after we’d loaded Kevin Dooley’s remains into the back
of his hearse. ‘With any luck the place’ll take a direct hit and I won’t have to bother with Kevin or his bleedin’ mother.’
I pointed out that this was hardly fair on Kevin’s children, which Albert did agree to, but he was unrepentant with regard
to the man and his mother. ‘Go to any pub in Canning Town, ask for Dooley and you’ll see what I mean,’ Albert said. ‘Been
slung out of every one.’
‘What for?’
Albert coughed, then lit up a fag. The mist was thick from the river that evening. ‘Scrapping,’ he said. ‘Kevin Dooley was
a scrapper. Man, woman or child – he didn’t care. Give one of my lads a black eye couple of years back in the Chandelier.
The mother’s no better and his brothers are animals.’
In view of what Albert’s opinions seemed to be about the Dooleys it didn’t seem worth launching into my story about Kevin
and his stab wound. He wouldn’t, I felt, have had a great deal of interest in what might or might not have occurred on that
mad, bomb-soaked night down in East Ham. Maybe I would just leave it alone, like Dr O’Grady had said. But I did tell Albert
about the man’s wife.
‘Poor girl,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Sometimes I’d see her, she could hardly open her eyes for the swelling.’
‘He beat her up?’
‘Well, somebody must’ve,’ Albert said. ‘Always in the family way, always with a black eye, that one. It was either Kevin or
his mother, probably Kevin. I think the old girl got her fun making a dog’s life for poor young Velma.’
Velma, it turned out, was the one Vi Dooley had called the ‘basket’, the one who was from the younger woman’s previous marriage.
She was, Albert reckoned, aboutfifteen. Not only had Velma had to clean up after her step-father and his mother, she’d had a lot to do with her nine half-brothers
and -sisters too.
According to Albert, having a lot of kiddies was important to Kevin. ‘Used to boast about what a man he was in any pub that’d
have him,’ he said, as he locked up the back of the hearse and climbed into the cab. ‘Bleedin’
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