“I keep all keys in my office for safety.”
“Would everybody know that?”
“I believe it is common knowledge, sir.”
“Any missing?”
“No, sir, I checked. They’re hanging on hooks by my desk, all present and correct. On Sunday it was Mr. Riley who took the key and opened the door. He obviously returned it.”
“Right, let’s start setting up interviews. It’s a bit cramped in here but that can’t be helped.”
“People are getting used to being squashed these days,” said Cudmore. He unfastened a piece of paper from the back of his notebook. “I have this list prepared for you. It is the same one I gave you yesterday. The letter P beside a name indicates that they are in the factory today and thus available for you to speak to.”
He handed the sheet of paper to Tyler.
“Mrs. Castleford is already here, sir. She is still quite distraught. It would be kind if you could start with her.”
“Very well, Mr. Cudmore. Let’s be kind.”
So far the clinic hadn’t been busy but Eileen was expecting she’d be receiving workers as the day went on. She was glad she’d stocked up recently on sleeping draughts. With the horrendous events of Sunday and the drubbing the city had taken the previous week, she knew she’d be asked to dispense them. Fortunately, her requisitions were usually approved by Mr. Cudmore, who was only too happy to sign off on such things. Endicott, who periodically stuck his fat finger in, never liked to see evidence of what he called high-strung females.
The waiting room door opened and Lev Kaplan entered. He was carrying a brown paper bag, which he thrust at her.
“Good morning, Sister. My thank-you gift … No, no, don’t refuse until you see what it is. Then I know you will have to accept.”
She peeked into the bag. It smelled of coffee.
“I know you Limeys love your tea, but if you ever had a chance to taste real American coffee you would change your entire way of life.”
“We have coffee here,” Eileen answered, exasperated.
“Camp Coffee Essence is not remotely like the real thing. It’s like comparing sludge to single-malt Scotch. This coffee is soluble in water, so it’s fast and easy to make and it’s almost as good as brewed coffee. I assume you don’t own a percolator, do you?”
Eileen laughed. “You are quite right, Mr. Kaplan, I don’t have a percolator. I’m not even sure what that is.”
“Would you mind calling me Lev? Only my bank manager and the War Ministry refer to me as Mr. Kaplan. It puts a distance between us.”
“That might not be a bad idea.”
“Too pushy, huh?”
“Far too pushy.”
“How long will I have to wait until you feel you know me well enough to spend a few hours in my company? Come on, what’s the worst that can happen? You will be bored to death? Offended beyond human endurance? Either way it’s only four hours out of your life, and who knows how long anybody has these days.” He made his face serious but his eyes were laughing.
“What four hours are you referring to?”
“I would like to invite you to a dance at the Jewish Association fundraiser. Tomorrow night.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
He interrupted her. “I know we haven’t known each other very long—”
“Twenty-four hours, to be exact.”
“These days, that’s loads of time. Do say you’ll come. It’s a most worthy cause.”
“I … er …”
“You don’t have to give me an answer right now. I’ll be back soon to do some shooting.”
“What do you mean, shooting?”
“I thought I’d do some filming with Mr. Endicott and you.”
“What!”
He looked around the clinic. “Like I said, this is a nice, friendly space. It will go down well. I have to do something with him that looks inviting, so I thought I’d bring him here.”
Her expression obviously betrayed her feelings about her boss.
“See it as an act of patriotism,” said Lev.
“Really, Mr. Kaplan, I’m sure you could find better subjects from among our workers.”
“You are far too modest, Miss Abbott. I cannot think of another person who better conveys kindness and competence all nicely blended together.”
She regarded him doubtfully, not sure if he was teasing or laying on insincere dollops of flattery. Neither seemed to be the case.
“That’s settled, then. Enjoy the coffee. I’ll be back later.” He left.
Eileen was still holding the paper bag. She inhaled deeply. It was true she hadn’t had much coffee in her life, but if that wonderful aroma was anything to go by she was going to enjoy it a lot.
A sharp little voice spoke at the back of her mind. And that isn’t all you think you might enjoy. Don’t lie to yourself, Eileen Abbott.
Mrs. Valerie Castleford was a short, plump woman still on the hopeful side of middle age. Normally probably attractive in a lush way, today her eyes were red and swollen and her skin blotchy. Nevertheless she’d taken care with her appearance and she was dressed in a smart, snug-fitting tweed suit and matching hat. Like Cudmore, she was wearing a black arm band. Her husband appeared to be some years older and was grey to her blonde. He seemed at a complete loss as to how to help her and could only pat her arm periodically, a gesture she ignored. She pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and burst into tears as soon as she sat down.
“Take your time, Mrs. Castleford,” said Tyler. “I know what a dreadful shock this has all been. It would help me if you just tell me in your own words what happened, from the time you first arrived at the factory until after the explosion.”
The very word seemed to make her flinch. “There was nothing but confusion when I arrived. The change room was locked, nobody knew where the key was, and the girls from both sections were in the cloakroom area, waiting. Normally I’m there first, you see, but wouldn’t you know it, on this one Sunday of all Sundays, I was a bit late. I sing in the choir at my church and the organist wanted to speak to me afterwards.”
“She has a lovely voice, does our Val,” interjected her husband.
She threw him a rather irritated look. “The inspector isn’t interested in hearing that, Sid. Like I said, the girls were all outside instead of where they should have been, getting changed. They said as how they couldn’t get into the room. I went to see if we could find a key. Finally Mr. Riley opened the door for us.”
“Did he have his own key?” Tyler asked.
She shook her head. “Us supervisors we probably should have our own sets, but we don’t. The only persons to have master keys are the caretaker and Mr. Cudmore here. We’ve been told it’s safer that way. It meant Phil had to go and get the set from Mr. Cudmore’s office.”
The secretary was looking upset but wisely didn’t try to defend the policy.
Mrs. Castleford cast a quick glance at her husband. “At this time Mr. Riley told me that there was some kind of mix-up in the number of detonators that had been delivered. He was fifty short – that’s one pot. We had to sort it out. You can’t let fuses go unaccounted for. I said I would help with the recount. When the girls were all settled, I went to the magazine shed.” She dabbed at her eyelids. “They should have waited to tray up while I talked to Phil, that is, Mr. Riley. Like I said, that was most important.” She hiccupped.
“Did you tell them to start on their own?”
Mrs. Castleford initially looked as if she was going to deny it, but she said, “I suppose I must have. They were always in such a hurry. Young girls are impatient.”
She fell silent, miserable in her guilt.
“So you left them?” prompted Tyler.
“I didn’t think I was going to be long. As it was, I had only just got into the shed and was getting the lowdown from Phil when the explosion occurred. Phil told me to stay where I was and he ran to see what had happened. But I couldn’t just stay there, could I. I went t
o follow him, but I tripped.”
“She bruised her knees bad,” said her husband. “Show him, Val.”
Obediently Mrs. Castleford hitched up her skirt, revealing the injuries. Nothing too serious as far as Tyler could tell.
“I could hear somebody screaming. I knew something terrible had happened. There was so much smoke and dust. Then Phil reappeared. ‘Don’t come in, Val,’ he says to me. ‘We’ve got to get the ambulance.’ There was girls from the floor coming out now to see what was happening. Phil stands in front of the fire door and stops them.” She paused, unable to mask her admiration. “Brave he was. I mean, we didn’t know if there was going to be more explosions. ‘Go outside at once, girls,’ he says to the women. We’ve had fire drill lots of times, so they were good. They all left quietly.” She started to weep again and her husband patted more frantically. “I blame myself. They were not supposed to tray up by themselves, but they wanted to reach their quota so badly.” She moaned. “I feel so responsible.”
“I don’t like her working here, I never have,” said her husband. “She could have been killed herself. I had to get the doctor in to give her some pills.”
“Somebody’s got to do the job,” she muttered.
“You didn’t know the change-room door would be locked, though,” said Tyler. “That delayed you and put everyone under pressure. Any idea, by the way, as to why it was locked?”
“No. I haven’t thought about it really. I just thought it was some new order from Mr. Endicott.”
Tyler looked over at the secretary. “Mr. Cudmore?”
“I would have passed any such order along to the supervisors. No such command was issued.”
“Mrs. Castleford,” continued Tyler, “when you first came into the section, was everything normal?”
“Except for the two men who were fixing the bench. They weren’t supposed to be there but they said as how they wouldn’t be long.” She halted. “They were both hurt bad.”
“Do you know how the table came to be damaged?”
“Not really. Phil was the one who noticed the lino was peeling off. Not installed properly, most likely.”
Tyler waited a moment. “Anything else that was different about the section?”
“No … yes, there was. The magazine box wasn’t in its usual place. Is that the sort of thing you mean?”
“Where was it?”
“On the floor between the two benches. The dillie man usually puts it at the end of the second bench. It’s easier for me to get to it that way. But Mr. Aston said it was on the floor.”
“Did he say who put it there?”
“Not that I remember. It was left over from the previous shift. They hadn’t finished. I was just glad we had work to do. Doug helped me move the box to the bench so the girls could get started. I’m always so careful to make sure they tray up properly.”
“But in this case your care was overridden by the necessity of counting the fuses … with Mr. Riley.”
Mrs. Castleford shrank down into her chair and Tyler felt like a bully. “That’s correct. And I knew I wouldn’t be gone long …”
Her husband removed his comforting hand. She wiped hard at her eyes.
You’re not going to scrub away your guilt like that, thought Tyler. While you were after having a bit on the side, your charges went ahead and got themselves killed. That’s something you’re going to have to live with.
But would they have been killed anyway, whether or not Mrs. Castleford had supervised the traying up herself, as she was supposed to? That’s what he had to get to.
“Mrs. Castleford, I am assuming that the explosion was a tragic accident, but …” He hesitated. “If in the unlikely instance it was deliberately caused, is there any one person, or group of people, who in your opinion might be capable of such an act?”
Both Castlefords stared at him in horror. “Are you saying fifth columnists did it?” asked Mr. Castleford.
“No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just making sure all possibilities are dealt with.”
“Oh no,” gasped Mrs. Castleford. “Never. They’re all good girls as far as I’m concerned.”
Tyler smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure that’s true, Mrs. Castleford, but as supervisor, you are privy to the less public aspects of factory life. Discontents, complaints, that sort of thing.”
Mr. Castleford seemed glad to be going in that direction. He nudged his wife. “Tell him, Val. You’ve often carried on to me about some of those girls. Just the other day you mentioned that Pat woman and the one with the double-barrelled name, Mary Something or other – she’s said right out that she was a communist.”
Tyler checked the list Cudmore had given him. “You are referring to Miss Mary Ringwald-Brown, I presume? She was working on the first shift.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And Pat would be Miss Pat O’Callaghan?”
“They’re both malcontents, if you ask me,” said her husband. “Tell him, Val.”
Mrs. Castleford pursed her lips. “Miss Ringwald-Brown is a funny duck. She’s quite la-di-da, really, but says she wants to be in a factory with the workers. The poletarys, or something like that. She’s always urging them to go on strike over the slightest thing. Not enough hot water, not enough tea time, too long hours. I don’t hold with it myself. There’s a war on. Our boys are over there giving up their lives; we can put up with a bit of inconvenience.” She puffed out her chest, her misery temporarily forgotten.
“Do the others listen to her?”
“Not them. They can’t stand her. She’s very unpopular.”
“Is Miss O’Callaghan the same?”
“No, not in that way. She’s common as muck, excuse my language. Irish, and you know what they’re like. No, she won’t admit to being a commie; says she’s Labour and that’s different. But she’s also against management most of the time, no matter what they do. So what’s the difference, if you know what I mean.”
Again Tyler consulted the list. “I gather that two operatives who were supposed to be on the afternoon shift in Section B were absent. One was Miss June Lipton and the other was Miss Ringwald-Brown, who had already worked the early shift.”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct. The girls will sometimes take on two shifts in a row if they’re a bit short. If the hubbie is coming home on leave, for instance, and they want a nice new frock to wear. Not that Miss Ringwald-Brown has a hubbie or would buy a new frock. She’s not like that.”
“Did she mention why she signed up for a double?”
“No, she didn’t say. She’s not one to confide in anybody else. As far as I know she doesn’t have a man friend.”
“Sounds fishy to me,” chimed in Mr. Castleford.
Tyler didn’t want any rumours starting, so he said rather sharply, “Not necessarily.” He turned back to Mrs. Castleford. “Other than the fact that Miss Brown has communist sympathies, do you yourself think she is capable of sabotage?”
Mrs. Castleford hesitated. “I’d say no, right off the bat, but these days you never know what people are capable of. The world’s gone off its rocker as far as I’m concerned.”
Tyler couldn’t have agreed more, but he just nodded. “And with regard to the other young woman, Miss June Lipton, do you know why she was absent?”
“She did show up initially but said she was not feeling well and went back home.” Mrs. Castleford lowered her voice. “She’s a very nice young lady. It’s just that she has trouble at a certain time of the month.”
Cudmore kept his head down.
“By the way,” Tyler asked. “Did you and Phil – Mr. Riley – ever sort out the problem of the missing detonators?”
Again the telltale blush. “No, we didn’t. Sometimes it’s the bill of lading that’s wrong. After the explosion it slipped from my mind.”
“Not surprising, that.” He smiled at her. “I think that’s about all the questions I have for now. You’ve been a big help, Mrs. Castleford. But I do want you to
keep all this under your hat. Mum’s the word.”
Cudmore opened the door to usher them out. Castleford was behind his wife but didn’t touch her. Poor bugger. What do you do with a wife whose affections lie elsewhere? Tyler sighed. He knew what it was like to be in the other shoes. He sat for a moment ruminating. He took his cigarette case out of his pocket and snapped it open. Clare had given it to him for his twenty-first birthday. The inscription gleamed at him reproachfully. Love forever, C. It was a love forever. At least for him it was.
Suddenly the door was thrust open and Cudmore popped his head in. “Dearie me, sir, you’d better come. The girls are all in the canteen. They’re threatening to go on strike!”
The secretary was almost twittering with nervousness. “Word just came through that Audrey Sandilands has died. The employees were on their tea break and one or two of the, er, more difficult women have taken advantage of the tragedy and want to call for a strike.”
“I don’t really have any jurisdiction here,” said Tyler. “Legally there’s nothing I can do unless they start to vandalize the place. In which case we’d have to call in the local police.”
“I thought perhaps your presence here would calm things down.”
“Or inflame them,” said Tyler.
“Oh no, Inspector. They’re not like that. It’s because they’re all so upset. They just need to hear the voice of reason. I’d be much obliged if you would look in on it.”
“All right, let’s go.”
There was a lot of noise emanating from the canteen. Cudmore tried the door but it was locked. However, when he rapped it was opened immediately. An attractive young woman with long blonde hair greeted them.
“Mr. Cudmore. Come with a message from the boss, have you?”
“No, not exactly, Miss Tomlin. But I would like to hear what you have to say. On his behalf.”
“Who’s your chum?”
“This is Detective Inspector Tyler. He’s investigating the explosion.”
“Oops, sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be cheeky.”
Another woman appeared behind her. “What’s going on, Frankie?” She was older, tough as leather. The hair left exposed at the front of her turban was a telltale orangey blonde.
Beware This Boy Page 14