by Mike Hollow
PC Gracewell nodded, thanked Jago again and set off down the road in the direction of Stratford High Street.
‘Now, then, Peter,’ said Jago to Cradock, ‘to work. The victim’s a young woman, strangled it seems. She was found by an air-raid warden and a fireman, but the warden’s had to go and deliver some report to her post and isn’t back yet. The fireman’s over there, so we’ll see what he’s got to tell us first.’
They crossed the road to where the fireman was sitting with his back against a garden wall. He got to his feet as they approached.
‘Mr Evans?’ said Jago.
‘That’s me,’ said the fireman.
Jago thought he sounded surprisingly cheery for a man who’d been up all night fighting fires during an air raid.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Jago of West Ham CID,’ he said, ‘and this is Detective Constable Cradock.’
‘Good morning, gentlemen. Hosea Evans at your service. I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse the mess.’ He gestured over his shoulder towards the jute works site and its ruined buildings, glowing red in the darkness. ‘I don’t think this is quite what my illustrious countryman had in mind – you know, “keep them burning”.’
‘What?’
‘The home fires. You know – Ivor Novello. “Keep the Home Fires Burning”.’
He sang the first line of Novello’s song from the last war in a mellow baritone voice.
‘I see,’ said Jago. ‘The song, yes – very stirring. More popular at home than at the front, though, I’d imagine. So would I be right in thinking you must be Welsh?’
Evans laughed. ‘That’s right. I suppose if the voice doesn’t give me away the name will.’
‘I understand it was you who found the body.’
‘Well, strictly speaking it was that ARP warden who found the body, but I was with her, see?’
‘And what time was that?’
‘About three o’clock, as I recall.’
‘Where did you find the body?’
‘It was in the downstairs flat at number 28 over there. In the bedroom – that’s the front room.’
‘And can you tell me why you moved the body?’
‘Well, we thought we had to, really. The fire next door looked like it might spread, you see, so we had to make a quick decision – leave her there and risk any evidence of who did it being destroyed by fire, or pull her out. So that’s what we did. We got her out and covered her with a blanket, out of respect, like – respect for the dead. The ARP warden said she’d find a policeman, and I went back to my work. But look, couldn’t I tell you all this later? I’d like to get away if it’s all the same to you.’
‘No, I’ll need you to show me where you found her. I’ll—’
Jago was interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name. He turned round and saw Dr Anderson, the pathologist, emerging from the darkness.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Anderson. ‘I was actually asleep when your chaps called me. I came as soon as I could. What have you got for me?’
‘Mr Evans,’ said Jago to the fireman, ‘I’ll have to ask you to excuse me for a moment. Perhaps you’d like to get yourself a cup of tea – I saw a mobile canteen parked in the High Street on my way here.’
‘Very well,’ said Evans with a sigh. ‘Can I get one for you and your boy too?’
Jago took ‘boy’ to be a reference to Cradock, but in view of his colleague’s evident youth he didn’t think it inappropriate.
‘That would be kind of you. One spoonful of sugar for me, two for my colleague here. And Dr Anderson?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Anderson. ‘I confess I grabbed one in the hospital canteen before I left.’
‘Just the two, then,’ said Jago. ‘Thank you, Mr Evans.’
Evans sauntered off towards the High Street, in no apparent hurry.
‘Right, let’s see what we’ve got,’ said Anderson, rubbing his hands together. Jago was unsure whether this was because of the night chill or simply a reflection of the unseemly enthusiasm the pathologist seemed to have for poking about in dead bodies. He pulled back the blanket and played his flashlight over the dead woman’s body.
Her clothes were loose-fitting and ordinary-looking: the kind of things he imagined a woman might wear for comfort rather than show, when she wasn’t expecting visitors or when she’d got home from work and changed. She was slim, of average build and height, with nothing visibly exceptional about her. But his hand twitched as he shifted the flashlight to her face and saw her eyes. They were bulging, staring forcefully at nothing, a picture of terror.
He tried to imagine what she would have looked like before she was consumed by those last terrible moments of fear and agony. If he ignored her eyes he could see an attractive young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and a confident chin. What his mother would probably have called presentable. And she had what looked like a stocking tied tightly round her neck.
‘Do you know who she is?’ said Anderson.
‘Not yet. I’m going to take a look at her flat as soon as you’ve finished here, so I might find out more in there.’
‘Presumably not married, though – no rings on her finger.’
‘So I see.’
‘If you’ve seen enough, I think I’d rather like to get her back to the mortuary. I can put her under some proper light there. I just need to take her temperature before I go, to help establish an estimated time of death.’
Jago took a deep breath.
‘Tell me when you’ve finished,’ he said, turning away and motioning Cradock to come with him. He understood that pathologists had to do these things, but he had always found it such an undignified procedure that he felt guilty if he watched. Even the dead deserved their dignity.
‘All right, gentlemen, you can come back now,’ said Anderson moments later. ‘All done.’
‘Can you give us an indication of when she died?’
‘I’ll let you know when I’ve had a look at her in the mortuary. Right now her temperature’s still a little above the normal 98.4 degrees, but that’s nothing unusual.’
‘But she’s dead,’ said Cradock. ‘Shouldn’t it be lower?’
‘Not in this case,’ said Anderson. ‘As I’m sure you can tell from that thing round her neck, she’s been strangled, and in cases of asphyxia the body temperature actually rises.’
‘Right,’ said Cradock, sounding surprised.
‘But Doctor,’ said Jago, ‘surely the fact that she’s got a stocking tied round her neck doesn’t necessarily mean that’s what killed her.’
Anderson laughed. ‘Good point, Inspector. We should get you to train our forensic pathologists. You’re absolutely right – I’ll need to make a closer examination before I can be as categorical as I sounded.’
‘There’s something odd about it too,’ said Jago. ‘It looks much thinner and finer than any stocking I’ve ever seen – not that I’ve made a study of such things, of course.’
‘I think it must be one of those new ones, sir,’ said Cradock. ‘I’ve read about them.’
‘There you have the advantage of me, Peter. I don’t make a habit of reading the women’s page in the newspaper.’
‘Neither do I, sir. I just happened to hear about this new thing they’ve invented in America – they call it nylon.’
‘And they make stockings out of it? I’ve heard of nylon toothbrushes, but not stockings.’
‘That’s probably because they’re only made in America – you can’t get them here, as far as I know. I’ve never seen one either, so I’m just guessing.’
‘Well,’ said Jago to Anderson, ‘I’ll need to take that stocking. I’ve never come across one like it, so I’d like to get an expert to identify it.’
‘Can you wait until I’ve finished the post-mortem examination?’
‘Of course. Is there anything else you can tell us at this stage?’
‘No. I’ll just clear up now and get her taken to the mortuary. I’ll do the post-morte
m immediately, so if you’d like to stroll up to the hospital at about six this morning I should be finished.’
‘Very well, I’ll see you then. Come along, Peter, let’s find out where that fireman’s got to with our cups of tea.’
They left the pathologist to complete his work and headed away towards the High Street. As soon as they were out of earshot Jago thought he heard Cradock make a strange noise like a suppressed chuckle, which then turned into a rather unconvincing cough.
‘You all right, Peter?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m fine. I was just wondering, though – who’s that expert you want to show the stocking to?’
‘The only person I can think of who probably knows enough about ladies’ hosiery to identify an American nylon stocking,’ said Jago.
‘Ah, yes, sir, I see,’ said Cradock in a knowing way. He said no more, turning his head slightly aside lest Jago should see his amused grin.
CHAPTER THREE
When they got to the bottom of Carpenters Road Cradock spotted Evans: he was holding a mug of tea in his right hand and two more in his left, and appeared to be deep in conversation with a small group of men in AFS uniforms. On seeing them approaching, the fireman bade a quick farewell to his friends and hurried over to them.
‘Sorry, Inspector,’ he said. ‘You must’ve wondered what’d happened to me. I was discussing the night’s fires with my colleagues, you see.’
Jago thought it was just as likely he’d been discussing the rugby results, but he let it pass. He took one of the mugs of tea that Evans was offering and sipped: it was little more than lukewarm, but he drank it. Cradock did the same.
‘Now then, Mr Evans,’ said Jago. ‘I want you to take us into the flat and show us exactly where you found that unfortunate young lady’s body.’
Evans led them round to the back of the house.
‘That gate’s still locked,’ he said, ‘so you’ll have to climb over, like we did.’
Jago and Cradock followed him over the wall and to the back door.
‘Wait a moment,’ said Jago. ‘I want to have a look at this.’
He shone his flashlight on the door and could see it was as flimsy as most of them on these cheap old houses. He gave it a push, and it swung open. Stepping inside, he saw on the back of the door a small deadlock: the key was still in it, and the bolt was protruding. The wooden door frame was splintered where Evans said he had forced it.
They moved through the scullery and into the kitchen, which was in darkness.
‘Where was the light showing?’ Jago asked Evans.
‘Here, in the kitchen. The blackout curtains were open, so the warden drew them.’
‘I see.’ Jago switched on the light. ‘And you found the body in the bedroom, right?’
‘That’s it, yes. Follow me.’
He led them towards the front of the house, where Jago quickly verified that the lock on the front door was a Yale. The door was closed and locked to bar intruders, but the latch was positioned to allow anyone to open it from the inside and close it behind them.
The door to the bedroom was open, and Evans showed them in.
‘She was here,’ he said. ‘On the floor, like, lying on her side, but awkward. Terrible shock, it was.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Jago. ‘Now, tell me, did you touch anything or move anything?’
‘No, nothing, apart from getting the poor woman out.’
‘Right. Well, thank you, Mr Evans, you’ve been very helpful. I’m sorry we’ve kept you from your duties. Please give your name and address to Detective Constable Cradock here before you go – we may need to ask you a few more questions. When might we find you at home?’
Evans gave a hearty laugh. ‘That’s a good question. I’ve been on duty now for about eleven hours, but with a bit of luck I should be finished in another four or five. Try me this afternoon. If all goes well I might have grabbed a bit of sleep by then.’
‘And I hope you won’t mind letting us take your fingerprints.’
The laughter went out of the fireman’s voice. ‘Fingerprints? What? You don’t think I—’
‘It’s just so we can eliminate you from our enquiries. We can expect to find your fingerprints on the back door, and those of the lady you found here, so if we know they’re yours we can concentrate on any we don’t know.’
‘Well, if I must. I can’t say I like the idea, but I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?’
‘Thank you, Mr Evans. My colleague here will see to that.’
Jago opened the front door with a handkerchief over his fingers and let the fireman out. Evans looked back over his shoulder with a hesitant expression, as if he were about to say something, but seemed to think better of it and went on his way.
Jago and Cradock went back to the kitchen. It was almost empty, with just a table and a couple of upright chairs for furniture. The table was bare, save for a single plate bearing the remains of a portion of beans on toast, with a knife and fork propped on its edge, and beside it a glass half full of water.
‘It’s like the Marie Celeste,’ said Cradock.
‘Except we’ve found one more body than they did. Check those cupboards – see if we can find out anything more about her.’
Cradock searched while Jago looked in the drawers.
‘Not a thing, sir,’ said Cradock when he’d finished. ‘There’s nothing here.’
‘Nor in the drawers,’ said Jago. ‘Curious.’
They moved to the bedroom. Jago checked that the blackout curtains were in place, then switched on the light. The room was furnished sparsely: just a bed, a single wardrobe and an easy chair, all looking as if they’d seen better days, and a threadbare red-and-black carpet of indeterminate pattern that covered three-quarters of the floor. In one corner stood the gas and electricity meters, both thick with dust. The walls were bare, except for a crucifix.
The bed was a double, covered in a green counterpane, with two pillows in pillowcases that had once been white but now looked past their useful life. Cradock moved to the far side of it and noticed a light wheel-back chair lying on its side on the floor, with a woman’s stocking crumpled beneath it.
‘Sign of a struggle, do you think, sir?’ he said.
‘Possibly,’ said Jago. ‘That stocking looks the same as the one round that poor woman’s neck – the other half of the pair, I’d say. Take it with us.’
While Cradock picked up the stocking, Jago moved to the wardrobe and opened the door.
‘Only women’s things in here,’ he said across the room. ‘That would suggest she lived on her own. And I’m no expert on women’s clothes, but these look quite smart – fancy dresses and the like. Not the kind of things she was wearing when we saw her.’
‘Maybe she was a party girl – or maybe just had to dress smart for work and was off duty when she was killed,’ Cradock replied. ‘Hang on, there’s a handbag on the floor over here.’ He picked it up and tipped the contents onto the bed.
‘There’s a purse,’ he reported. ‘Money still in it, but not much. And here – that’s handy. An identity card. It says her name’s Joan Lewis.’
‘Good,’ said Jago. ‘At least we know who she was now, although it would’ve been helpful to know whether she was a miss or a missus. I don’t know why the government didn’t include marital status on those blessed cards. All the money they must’ve spent on them and then they leave that out.’
‘This is a bit funny, though.’
‘What is?’
‘Well, we’re at 28 Carpenters Road, but that’s not what she’s got on her card. It says 166 Carnarvon Road. Looks like she didn’t live here. But what was she doing here if she didn’t, and with clothes in the wardrobe?’
‘Interesting. We’ll need to check the other address.’
Cradock put the items back into the handbag and shut it. He stepped back from the bed and looked down at the floor: something had caught his eye. He crouched down and pulled it out from under the bed.
‘That’s odd too, sir. Funny thing to find in a young lady’s bedroom, I mean.’
He held it up so that Jago could see. It was a round navy blue cap encircled by a black ribbon bearing the letters ‘HMS’.
‘So, the navy’s here, eh, sir?’ he said with a grin. ‘That’s what they said when they rescued those prisoners in Norway, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, very amusing,’ said Jago. ‘All very well when it was Jolly Jack Tar seizing the Altmark, but what’s this tar been doing in Carpenters Road, Stratford?’
‘Hang on, there’s a name stamped inside – it says E. G. Sullivan. Must be a careless fellow to leave his cap behind. Friend of Joan’s, do you think, sir?’
‘Maybe – or a relative, or even someone she didn’t know. All we know is he’s in the navy, and it’s a rating’s cap, so he’s not an officer.’
‘Could it be significant?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, but if he left it here Sunday night it could be very significant.’
‘Should we try to find him, though?’
‘Yes. You’ll have to ask the navy. Make some enquiries later – find out where he’s stationed. If he’s at sea we won’t be talking to him for some time, but it could be he’s shore-based. And bring that cap and the handbag back to the station with you.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘That’ll do, Peter.’
‘Sorry, sir. Will do.’
‘If it turns out he’s not at sea and he left it here recently, we’ll have to find out what he was doing here, and why this Joan Lewis was entertaining a sailor.’
‘Well, they do say all the nice girls love a sailor.’
‘Yes, but the question is, was our Joan a nice girl?’
CHAPTER FOUR
Jago and Cradock let themselves out through the front door and emerged into Carpenters Road. It was almost six o’clock, and soon the sun would be rising. The fire was close to extinction, and only one AFS crew could still be seen, playing water onto a heap of smouldering timber wreckage.
‘Where’s that ARP warden got to?’ said Jago.