He then turned to Cohen. “You are being moved to more suitable accommodation. Get outside.”

“But we have only just arrived; you told us to move here!”

“Get outside, Levi. Get your people outside quickly.”

“You keep moving us to smaller and smaller places. How are we supposed to put up with this? Can we not have a moment to gather our things? The old people, they have no shoes!” Cohen was pointing along the hallway and out the front door to the street, where the Jews were being corralled by the HDT with their pickax handles.

“I’ll arrange for their things to be brought along. Get outside,” Rossett said calmly. He glanced back to the bed, where the others remained, sitting up but not getting out.

Striding across the room, he kicked at the broken wooden bed.

“Move!”

One of the old women glared at Rossett, thrusting out her chin.

“You should be ashamed!” her heavily accented voice rang out. “I come here to get away from men like you! You are a disgrace!”

A young bobby appeared in the doorway, buzzing with adrenaline. “Shall I move ’em, sir?” Wild eyed and eager.

“Yes,” Rossett replied, quietly turning away from the doorway. Cohen followed him.

“We did as you said. You told us we would be safe here. You told us if we moved here we would be left alone, and now you move us again?”

“Get outside, Levi.” This time Rossett spoke softly.

“How many times? How many times will you lie to us? Move us? How many times?” The old man was shouting now.

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Doing your job? You call this a job?” Cohen grabbed Rossett’s arm and yanked him back toward the room.

Rossett head-butted the old man, who dropped to the floor, dazed but still conscious.

Behind them, Martha screamed as the young bobby dragged her from the bed. Other constables ran back to the house to assist their colleague, and quickly the room filled with shouting policemen, two of whom lifted Cohen and dragged him away. The old man looked confused for a moment and then his eyes found focus; he stared at Rossett as he was taken outside, a treacle-thick gobbet of blood hanging from his nose. His eyes fixed on Rossett’s as he was pushed into the crowd and the waiting arms of his people. The blood dropped from his nose onto his long johns and the old man let it fall, red on gray.

It was Rossett who looked away first.

The rain started again as the wagons reversed around the corner. The older Jews were lifted by the younger ones up into the backs of the vehicles as two policemen stood either side and counted heads. Rossett stayed in the doorway and lit a cigarette, watching the houses opposite. He’d heard there had been shots fired at police during a clearance in Manchester a few weeks before. The Germans had come down hard on that street. The last thing Rossett wanted was for some locals to take umbrage while he had the two Germans watching.

All he noticed was a few curtains flicking open, then closing just as quickly. It seemed everyone was turning a blind eye and things were going to go quietly.

His forehead stung from the head butt and he gingerly touched it before sucking on the cigarette again.

The Jews were squeezed onto the back of the trucks, with canvas sheets eventually rolled down to cover the cargo from prying eyes, out of sight and out of mind.

Rossett waved four policemen across to him.

“You guard the back and front of the house, and don’t let anyone in till I come back, understand?”

“Does that include the Germans, Sarge?”

“That includes Hitler; no one goes in there till I get back.”

Two broke away to make their way around to the rear while the others stepped into the hallway out of the rain.

“Outside,” said Rossett. “Nobody goes in, including you.”

The bobbies stepped out and pulled what was left of the door closed behind them. As the trucks fired up, Rossett nodded to the uniformed sergeant.

“Get half of your lads in the empty wagon; follow us down to the rail yard. I’ll need them to help load the train.”

The sergeant nodded, looking almost shell-shocked, then took a deep breath and started issuing orders as Rossett walked back to his car. He’d almost made it when he heard Koehler call his name. When he turned, he saw the two Germans walking toward him.

“Well done, Sergeant. An excellent operation.” Schmitt was smiling now. He held out his hand for Rossett to shake.

“It seemed to go well. We still have to load the trains, but I doubt they’ll give us any problems.”

“They will do as they are told.