‘Don’t say that. Don’t say “hope to die”...’
I nodded. ‘You’re right. OK, sensible answer. Yes, I am serious. We’ll put an end to the Britannia Club.’
This started Barbara crying again.
With perfect timing Benny arrived with our food.
‘What, your first tiff already.’ He glowered disapprovingly.
I glowered back at him.
‘What did you say to the girl to upset her, Johnny Hawke?’
‘I told her that you were my father.’
Benny nearly dropped his tray.
11
The Barley Mow was fairly crowded at six o’clock that evening when Inspector David Llewellyn and Detective Sergeant Stuart Sunderland entered, lightly disguised as punters.
‘I suppose we ought to stick to shandies in order to keep a clear head,’ said Llewellyn as he shouldered his way to the bar, ‘but as this is unpaid overtime, I’m kicking that idea into touch. I’m having a pint. Same for you, eh?’
Sunderland nodded. He knew it was best to go along with his governor. It made for a quieter life.
Drinks purchased, they sat at a small round table by the door with a good view of the saloon bar.
‘You know, Sunderland,’ began Llewellyn expansively, after his first sip of beer, ‘once upon a time, there would have been little point in coming into a pub on a whore-hunt much before 9.30 in the evening. That’s when they used to descend like a bloody plague of locusts, ready to pick up the miserable buggers who’d been drinking all night to forget their troubles. These saps were not only easily seduced but because they’d be fairly squiffy with ale they were not so sharp at spotting the odd fiver being lifted from their wallets. Now, with the war, there are so many desperate randy bastards out there wanting a quick one you can find a prosser at any time. Take that little gel over there.’
Sunderland followed Llewellyn’s gaze. At the far side of the room was a woman sitting on her own. To the sergeant in that lighting and at that distance she could have been anywhere between twenty-five and fifty. She had peroxide-blond hair and harsh make-up and smoked a cigarette with a kind of nervous desperation.
‘How do you know she’s on the game?’ he asked.
Llewellyn grinned. ‘Tell-tale signs: tight, revealing jumper, skirt hitched a little higher than is respectable, heavy make-up, no wedding-ring, and look how she scrutinises every feller who comes in.’
‘She could be waiting for someone.’
‘She is. The likely lad. One who’s got enough dosh for a quick knee-trembler outside’ He took a large gulp of beer. ‘You stay here while I have a word with the little lady.’
As Llewellyn approached the woman she looked up at him and smiled. He drew a stool up to her table. ‘Mind if I perch myself here?’ he asked in a friendly fashion.
The woman smiled showing a row of brown teeth. ‘Help yourself, love. It’s a free country.’
This close up, Llewellyn observed that she would never see forty again.
‘You wouldn’t like to buy a lady a drink, would you?’ she said with no hint of coyness or shyness in her voice.
Llewellyn grinned. ‘Be pleased to. I just wonder if you could help me first.’
The woman looked apprehensively at him, her smile fading. ‘Depends on what kind of help.’
Llewellyn pulled a photograph from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. It was a picture of Molly Yates, the most recent victim.
‘Do you know her?’
The woman gave a snort of indignation. ‘You’re a rozzer, aren’t you? Should have known.’
‘Have a look at the picture. Do you know her?’
She gave a cursory glance and shook her head.
Llewellyn pocketed the photograph and sighed. ‘Look, love, I believe she frequented this pub. She was murdered by one of her punters. It could be you next. All I’m after is a bit of information, information that might help to catch the bastard who did it. That’s all I want. I’m not about to delve into your personal activities, if you catch my drift.’
The woman thought for a while, biting her lip. ‘I thought you were buying me a drink,’ she said at length. ‘Rum and pep, since you ask.’
Llewellyn nodded and retreated to the bar. When he returned with the drink moments later the woman looked more relaxed and had lit another cigarette.
‘What’s your name, love?’ he asked, handing her the rum and pep.
‘Let’s say I’m Nancy, shall we?’
‘Suits me. Now then, Nancy, take another look at the photograph. Are you sure you’ve never seen that girl before?’
Both Llewellyn and Nancy knew this was a charade, but she glanced once more at the picture and nodded. ‘Yes, I think I have seen her in here. Not often. She’s new on the game, I think, but I don’t know her personally. Despite what you cops might think, we don’t have a bloody union, y’know. We don’t have meetings and socials; we just work on our own.’
‘Can you cast your mind back to last Monday? Did you see her in here that night? Did you see her getting off with any bloke?’
Nancy shook her head again, but this time Llewellyn reckoned it was a genuine response. ‘I’m too busy keeping my eye out for my own punters to notice such things. Your best bet is Eva; she’s a bit of a mother hen, especially with the young ones. She’s been on the game since the year dot.’
‘Where will I find this Eva?’
‘She’ll be in later, around eight usually. Sits on the stool over by the piano. Big woman, black hair—dyed of course. If I’m still here, I’ll tip you the wink.’
‘Thanks, Nancy. And watch out for yourself.’
‘Yeah, yeah. What am I supposed to do? Starve?’
Llewellyn threw some coins on the table. ‘Buy yourself another drink.’
When he returned to his own table he found Sunderland in deep conversation with a young girl who could easily have passed for Nancy’s daughter: she was of the breed. The girl was giggling and tickling Sunderland under his chin with her forefinger. The sergeant seemed to be enjoying it.
‘Pardon me for intruding,’ grunted Llewellyn, parking himself down next to Sunderland.
‘That’s all right,’ chirped the girl, fluttering eyelashes heavy with mascara. ‘I was just going.’ She turned to the sergeant again. ‘Bye for now, Stuart. You know where to find me.’
Sunderland blushed. The girl giggled and left.
‘Seem to be having a nice time there…Stuart,’ Llewellyn observed pointedly.
‘Just doing my duty, sir, I was asking about Molly, but I drew a blank.’
‘I wouldn’t exactly say that, boyo.’
Sheepishly, Sunderland took a large gulp of beer.
‘Just be careful, lad. You sometimes get more than you see in the shop-window with these girls, y’know. Morally, I’ve no problem with them but they can carry a lot of trouble.’
Sunderland frowned, unsure what his governor was on about.
‘VD, boyo. The dreaded clap,’ he explained. ‘One quick shag with an infected whore and your old man drops off. You have been warned.’
Sunderland shuddered at the thought. ‘How did you get on with the lady over there?’
Llewellyn told him.
‘So we wait for this Eva then?’
‘That’s about it. A big woman with black hair, sits by the joanna.’ Llewellyn glanced at his watch. It wasn’t seven o’clock yet. ‘Looks like we might have a long wait. I reckon we’ll have to go on to shandies after all’.
The two men waited impatiently, sipping their shandies slowly. Apart from their work, they had little in common and gradually their sporadic conversation dried up. To his disappointment and chagrin, Llewellyn saw that his contact, the peroxide-blonde who called herself Nancy, had clicked with an ARP warden around seven o’clock and had disappeared into the night. He wondered where they had gone. Had she a shabby gaff nearby or was she going to take him to her favourite doorway for the deed? What a life, he thought. He pictured his
wife at home, probably listening to the wireless and knitting. He knew she’d wait up for him and they’d share a cup of tea before going to bed. He’d be too tired for real passion, but they’d hold each other under the covers and fall asleep in each other’s embrace. How far removed from this domestic normality was the life of these girls whose lovemaking was soulless and, indeed, sexless. Men used them and they used men, neither really engaging in loving emotions. It was need or greed on her part and lust on his. It made Llewellyn feel sad.
Sod it, he said to himself, if this Eva creature doesn’t come in the next five minutes, I’m going to get a proper drink. A nice bottle of Mackeson, most likely.
As was his luck, Eva did arrive in the pub within the next five minutes.
‘Isn’t this our lady now?’ asked Sunderland, nodding in the direction of the large, black-haired woman who made something of an entrance as she flounced into the saloon bar, nodding and smiling to the regulars who returned her welcome gestures with broad grins. The landlord already had a gin and tonic on the bar waiting for her as she heaved her considerable backside on to the bar stool.
‘I’ll pay for that,’ said Llewellyn sidling up to her. She raised a sooty eyelid.
‘Blimey, Arthur,’ she said, addressing the barman, ‘when did you start letting gentlemen into this boozer?’ She laughed at her own joke in a wheezy, stertorous fashion, while her large bosom rippled like a giant jelly.
Llewellyn studied this old tart—and old she was. Her make-up, he assumed, had been applied with a trowel, filling in the cracks on her raddled visage. In fact it wasn’t make-up so much as a mask. Her eyes were ringed with thick mascara and her cheeks had been rouged in such a fashion that she looked as though she was experiencing a permanent hot flush. It was the nearest thing Llewellyn had seen to a pantomime dame in real life.
‘Cheers, mate,’ she grinned, raising her glass.
‘Cheers,’ responded Llewellyn. ‘There’s another if you can help me.’
The sooty eyelids narrowed. ‘The bleedin’ cops, is it? Since when have you started buying tarts like me a ginny bribe? You’re usually round here running me in or after a quick fumble for free.’
‘Neither in this case.’
Eva drained he glass. ‘There’s a relief. Here, Arthur, get another in here. Make it a double. The gentleman’s paying.’ Llewellyn nodded to the barman.
Nursing her replenished glass, Eva turned full on to the inspector. ‘So what is it you want, officer?’
‘You’ve heard about the murders. Two girls strangled.’
‘It happens sometimes. Occupational hazard. Some men are bastards.’
‘We want to catch this particular bastard before he does it again. You can help.’
‘How?’
Sunderland, who had been hovering in the background, stepped forward and handed Eva a picture of Molly Yates.
‘Blimey, there’s two of the blighters,’ she cried in mock surprise. ‘Course, you lot go around in pairs, don’t you…to hold each other’s hand? Two of you, eh? I reckon that means another drinkie.’
‘Look at the picture first, eh love,’ said Llewellyn.
She gave the photograph a cursory glance and handed it back. ‘Yeah, seen it,’ she said. ‘It’s poor Molly.’
‘Yes, it’s poor Molly. You knew her.’
‘As well as you get to know any of the girls. She was fairly new on the game. A bit naïve…’
‘In what way?’
‘She really didn’t treat it as a business. She saw it as a stepping-stone to happiness and married bliss, poor cow. She thought that she would meet her Mr Right one day and he’d whisk away to a nice semi in Brighton or some other such place. She tended to give the ugly blokes a miss. She only wanted to do it with a good-looking feller, especially if he was in uniform.’
‘Did you see her in here last Monday?’
Eva screwed up her putty features. Her make-up cracked in several places. ‘The night she copped it? Yes, I think so. I saw her chatting with a bloke near closing-time. Monday’s always a slow night for some reason. I can’t remember when I last had a punter on a Monday.’
‘What did this man look like?’ Sunderland asked.
Eva pursed her lips. ‘Can’t rightly say. Didn’t take much notice really.’
‘Come on, Eva, think. Anything, any detail at all would help. Bring a picture to your mind…’
She screwed her face up once more and bit her lip. Well...’ she said at length, ‘he was a good-looker. Dark features. And tall. I do remember he was tall. He towered over little Molly.’
‘What was he dressed in? Was he wearing a uniform?’
‘A raincoat. A black gabardine. Yes, that’s it. He kept it on all the time. I thought it a little odd ‘cause it was fastened up to the neck. And big boots.
Llewellyn almost laughed. ‘Big boots?’
‘Yeah, big, shiny boots. Just like your mate’s got.’ Instinctively, Llewellyn glanced down at Sunderland’s feet.
‘Anything else?’
Eva shook her head? Nah. Honest. I’d tell you if I knew. I’d be very happy if you caught the devil, but you don’t want me to be making things up do you?’
Llewellyn sighed. ‘No.’
‘Right, then, what about that other drink?’
12
Barbara devoured her salt-beef sandwich and most of the potatoes as though she hadn’t had a meal since the outbreak of the war. As she cleared her plate she grinned at me in an embarrassed way.
‘Sorry, I’m not usually such a glutton, but I’ve not eaten much in the last few days. I was knotted up inside knowing what I intended to do.’
‘As long as you’re not building up your strength to try it again…’
She laughed. It was a genuine, unfettered laugh, her eyes sparkled and her features lit up with a natural exuberance. It was as though she had been in a dark tunnel and was now just emerging into the light.
I smiled back. With all the worry taken from her face, I saw that she was very pretty. Steady, Johnny, a voice within me cautioned, she is just a kid. Yeah, you’re right, I agreed. But a very pretty kid at that.
‘What happens next?’ she asked.
‘I think you should retain me as a private detective to find your brother’s killer.’
‘What a great idea,’ she said, enthusiastically but then her grin turned to a frown. ‘But I could never afford you.’
‘Oh, I come very cheap. I could do the whole deal for…say a coffee and a salt-beef sandwich.’
‘Don’t be kind to me. I can’t bear kind right now.’
I shook my head. ‘Not really being kind. After what you’ve told me, I can’t just leave the matter there. It’s part of my character, I’m afraid. I’ve just got to find out for my sake as well as yours. A crime has been committed, someone must pay. It’s as simple as that’.
‘In that case, you’re hired.’ She gave me a gentle smile and squeezed my hand.
‘Give me a few days to do some digging and I’ll see what I can find out. I’ve got the drinks party tonight to start with…that should prove illuminating. We can meet up so I can report back.’ It was business, but I did want to see her again.
‘OK. I could meet you for lunch here the day after tomorrow. I work in the haberdashery department at Bourne and Hollingsworth in Oxford Street which is not too far away.’
‘Shouldn’t you be there now?’
‘I took a few days off this week. I’m due back tomorrow.’ She glanced at her wrist-watch. ‘I’d like to go home now. I’m feeling a little tired after…everything’
Suddenly she did look tired. It was as though her body had reminded her of the strain she had suffered. Her shoulders slouched and dark circles appeared under the eyes which widened with disbelief. It was little wonder, for the girl had been through a terrible experience. Her desire for revenge, for retribution, had propelled her into actions that were alien to her. She wasn’t a cruel-hearted killer but for a while she had entered a tw
ilight world and it seemed to me that only now did she realise the full implications of what she had tried to do: to shoot a man dead in cold blood. Suddenly she was aware that had I not been able to stop her she would probably be sitting in a police cell now, charged with murder, rather than sitting in Benny’s café with me. The appalling realisation of what might have happened drained her dry.
I offered to take her home but she begged me not to. ‘I don’t want my mother to know anything about today. She’d only worry me with questions and she’d want to know all about you. I just…I just couldn’t cope with that just now. She’s still grieving for Isaac and I don’t want to bring her anymore trouble. She knew nothing of what I planned to do. I see now that I was crazy…’ Barbara shook her head with wise disbelief.
I knew she was right and I didn’t want to put her under any pressure. ‘That’s fine,’ I said easily and gave her hand a squeeze.
I paid the bill and popped her in a taxi. ‘See you here, the day after tomorrow at 12.30,’ I said.
She nodded and waved as the taxi drew away. I saw her mouthing the words ‘Thank you,’ through the grimy window before the taxi went round the corner and out of sight.
As I turned to make my way back to my office I noticed Benny standing in the doorway of his café, grinning at me.
*
When I got back to Hawke Towers I lay on the bed and took a rest. I reran the events of the day in my head, trying to isolate incidents in an attempt to make some sense of them. Such brainwork befuddled my mind and it sought an escape. I soon drifted off into sleep.
When I awoke, it was dark. I clicked on my bedside lamp and checked the time. It was 7.30. I’d been out for over three hours. Now I really had to get my skates on if I were to get to the drinks party with my new set of admiring friends at the Britannia Club.
After the very basic ablutions—a splash wash, a fresh application of Brylcreem and a rub with the curtains to shine my shoes—I was out on the street heading back to Manchester Square.
Dusk was falling fast as I approached the premises of the Britannia Club. This time the door was closed and there were no bruisers standing on guard outside. I rang the bell and waited. The door was opened by a butler-type chap in evening dress with a stiff white collar and a bow tie which was so tight at the fellow’s Adam’s apple that it looked like some vibrating satanic butterfly on the verge of flight. I gave my name and he checked it on a list.
Comes the Dark Page 6