by Mike Hollow
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, well, it’s a long time ago now.’
‘Not a result of the war?’
‘No, at least not this one – it was the last one, which you look old enough to remember.’
Jago nodded, still studying her face.
‘There’s nothing exceptional about my story,’ she said. ‘Robbie and I had been walking out together for six weeks or so. We had a lovely quiet stroll one Tuesday evening, then we said goodnight with a little kiss and I returned to my lodgings and went to bed. When I woke up the next morning I discovered we’d declared war on Germany while I was asleep. Two days later he told me he’d volunteered for Kitchener’s Army with a few of his pals. I was shocked and told him not to, but he said it was too late, he’d taken the king’s shilling, and that was that. Next thing I knew, he was off. I wrote to him all the time, of course, and he wrote back when he could. Everyone said the war would be over by Christmas and Robbie’d come home a hero, and I believed them. But Christmas came and went, and he was still in France. They gave him a few days’ leave the next year and we got married, but he had to go straight back. Six months later he was killed.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you. It was in May 1916 – he was in the Royal Field Artillery and was killed in a German attack near Vimy Ridge. They told me later it was the heaviest shelling of the war up to then. His battery was eight miles behind the front-line trenches, but even so a German shell hit his gun pit and they were all killed.’
Jago nodded again, not wanting to intrude too quickly with his questions.
‘That sort of thing leaves you numb,’ she continued. ‘You feel like you might as well be dead yourself. But don’t get me wrong – it was still a shock to find that woman strangled. It’s bad enough having the enemy coming over and bombing us, without some swine of our own going round murdering innocent women – assuming she was an innocent woman, of course. I didn’t know her.’
‘But you’re an ARP warden,’ said Jago. ‘Aren’t you supposed to know everyone who lives in your area?’
‘Yes, but that wasn’t my sector. I’d just been sent over to prepare a damage report for the post warden. I didn’t even clap eyes on the warden responsible for Carpenters Road.’
‘I see. Now can you just clarify something for me? Was it you who told the fireman to break in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you just kick the door open yourself? It looked pretty flimsy to me.’
‘As far as I knew, that would’ve been against regulations. And anyway, I didn’t know what it looked like until we got there. I’d tried the front door but there was no answer, so I assumed we’d probably have to break in. By the time I saw the back door, the fireman was there with his axe, so I asked him to do it.’
‘Did you disturb anything in the flat, touch anything?’
‘I don’t think so. The only thing I did was close the blackout curtains. The light was on, you see.’
‘Did you turn the light off?’
‘No – I mean not at first, but I did turn it off when we left.’
‘Who went in first?’
‘That was me. Mr Evans opened the door and let me go in, then he followed.’
‘And which of you found the body?’
‘I did. It was in the bedroom.’
‘Did you notice whether the dead woman was wearing any rings?’
‘Rings? I’ve no idea. I didn’t have time to examine the body. We had to get it out.’
‘Whose idea was it to remove the body from the flat?’
‘I’m not sure. I think we just decided.’
‘Did you discuss it?’
‘Yes. I said we ought to get the body out, because it looked as though the poor woman had been murdered – I don’t suppose it’s very easy to commit suicide in that way.’
‘And Mr Evans agreed?’
‘No, he didn’t, actually, now you mention it – not at first. He said, “Let the dead bury their dead” – you know, like in the Bible. He’s Welsh, of course, or at least he said he was, and they’re always quoting the Bible, aren’t they? Anyway, he said that, and when I asked him what he meant, he said she was dead, and nothing was going to bring her back, and he ought to be outside putting fires out and saving the living, not wasting time getting a body out of a building. I said, “But I can’t get her out by myself, and besides, what would people think of us if we left her in here and the place caught on fire? And what about the police, too?” This poor woman would’ve been murdered and we would’ve destroyed all the evidence. I said to him, “If we leave her in here and it burns down, the police might even think we had something to do with it.”’
‘And then what?’
‘Well, that seemed to make sense to him, because he suddenly changed his mind and started picking her up. Got her in one of those fireman’s lifts, you know – I could never have done it. I just helped holding doors open and so on. So we got her out and put her on the pavement, where you found her. I took a blanket from the bedroom as we left so I could cover her up – I didn’t know how long it would be before the police came, and I didn’t want her to be lying out there for all the world to see.’
‘So it was your idea to get the body out and preserve the evidence?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Why?’
‘Oh, nothing. I’m just making sure I get the facts straight. I got the impression from Mr Evans that it was more of a joint decision.’
‘Well, I suppose it was – in the end.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Will that be all? It’s just that I’m very tired.’
‘Of course. I’m grateful for your assistance. I hope your next shift isn’t quite so dramatic.’
‘There’s no need to worry about me, Inspector. I’m used to it now. In fact, to tell you the truth, there’s nowhere I’d rather be at night than out among the bombs and the fires. The risk of dying is the only thing that makes me feel alive and worthwhile.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On their return to the police station Jago pulled out from under his desk the suitcase that Beryl had entrusted to him the previous day. Cradock gave him a quizzical look.
‘You still think that stuff’s got something to do with this murder, sir?’
‘I’ve no idea, Peter, but it’s the only thing we’ve got that might tell us something about Joan. I’d especially like to find out why she didn’t want Audrey to get her hands on it.’
‘Sounds like we should drop in on Audrey, then, sir.’
‘Indeed we should. Get your coat.’
Jago reckoned it would be quicker to walk than to try taking the car. At this time of the morning the streets would still be blocked by wreckage from the night’s air raids, and it would probably be easier to scramble past any obstructions on foot. His decision was vindicated soon after they set off, when they found their route blocked by a yellow sign saying ‘Danger: unexploded bomb’. They took a side road instead, and from here to their destination the streets were clear. Ten minutes later they were in the living room of 166 Carnarvon Road.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you again, Mrs Lewis,’ said Jago, ‘but I thought you’d want to know the body we found has now been formally identified as your daughter-in-law. Her sister, Beryl, identified her for us. There was no reason for us to doubt it was Joan, but we still have to go through these formalities, just to be certain.’
‘I understand, Inspector. You have your job to do, thankless drudgery though it must be at times.’
This wasn’t the term Jago would have chosen to describe his work, but he hadn’t come here to discuss his professional life with her.
‘There’s something I’d like to ask you, too,’ he continued.
‘Be my guest. But if you’re thinking I can provide you with revealing insights into the deeper workings of young Joan’s mind, I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment. I can’t say I ever detected much depth to the woman. As I un
derstand it, her job was to walk up and down the aisle and shine a torch onto vacant seats. That says it all, doesn’t it?’
‘You think she was capable of more?’
Audrey shrugged. ‘I think she lacked ambition. Or perhaps she simply lacked ability – I don’t know.’
‘But she was your daughter-in-law.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that. Clearly my son thought a lot more of her than I did, but that was his prerogative as her husband. Unfortunately in this day and age one does not select one’s children’s marriage partners, more’s the pity. They make their bed and regrettably they must lie in it.’
‘It seems she was well regarded by her employer and colleagues.’
‘Was she really? Well, that’s as may be, but I’m afraid it’s a subject I can’t comment on. Now, what else did you want to know?’
Jago picked up the suitcase and showed it to her.
‘Do you recognise this?’ he asked.
‘If you mean do I know what it is, then yes, of course I do. It’s a suitcase, and a rather cheap one too. If you mean do I know whose suitcase it is, then I do not. It’s certainly not mine.’
Jago put the case down again and opened it. He took out the green tunic and handed it to Audrey.
‘Do you recognise this garment?’
Audrey looked at it warily. ‘Where did you get it?’ she said.
‘We were given it by someone Joan had asked to look after it, and we wondered whether you might be able to shed any light on it. I’d like to know whether it might’ve belonged to her husband.’
‘My son, you mean?’
‘Yes – Richard.’
Audrey fell silent. She draped the tunic across her lap and stroked it slowly, then raised it to her face and nuzzled her cheek against it. She seemed to become aware that Jago was watching her and abruptly stopped.
‘Yes,’ she said, putting it down beside her, ‘it was my son’s. She must have stolen it when she moved out of my house.’
‘Stolen it?’
‘Yes, she took it without my permission. It belonged to my son long before he met her. It’s part of who he was when he was younger, not who he is now, and she should have left it with me when she went.’
Jago reached out to take it back, but she snatched it away and held it close to her.
‘I have to take it, Mrs Lewis.’
‘No, you’re not having it. It’s mine. I’m not having anyone—’
‘Anyone what?’
‘I’m not having anyone else get their hands on this. It belongs to me. It’s private.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Lewis, but it may be required as evidence in our enquiry.’
‘Evidence? How can this possibly be evidence?’
‘Just let me have it, Mrs Lewis.’
The tone of his voice indicated that this was not a matter for discussion. She slowly handed the tunic to him.
‘Look after it, please, Inspector. I’d like it back when you’ve finished with it.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Lewis. Now, can you tell me about it?’
‘No. I don’t want to talk about it. Just go away and leave me alone.’
‘Very well,’ said Jago, carefully folding the tunic. ‘If you change your mind, let me know – I’d like to have a little more information about this. But I can see it’s important to you and I don’t want to distress you. Goodbye, Mrs Lewis. We’ll see ourselves out.’
‘Well,’ said Jago as he and Cradock walked away from the house. ‘That was interesting.’
‘Certainly was. One minute butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, next thing I thought she was going to fight you for that stuff. It obviously meant something to her, but I couldn’t tell whether that was a good something or a bad something.’
‘If she’s right and the tunic was Richard’s, maybe it just reminded her of his younger days when the world was a different place and he would’ve been safe, which it sounds like he isn’t now. But maybe it’s not as simple as that. It may have nothing to do with Joan’s death, but it’s an odd thing all the same – curious.’
Jago turned right into Romford Road, and Cradock followed him. He was about to ask where they were going next when Jago stopped and looked at his watch.
‘Ten to eleven,’ he said. ‘Nearly opening time.’
‘Are we going for a drink, guv’nor?’ he asked, his voice at once hopeful and surprised.
‘Not necessarily, but I do think we should drop in at the Green Man and see who’s behind the bar.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The clock on the saloon bar wall at the Green Man showed six minutes past eleven, soon enough after opening time for only the more committed drinkers to have arrived. The landlord was pulling a pint for a short, elderly customer in a shabby black suit, who handed over his coins and shuffled away, sipping appreciatively from the glass. When he had gone, the landlord cast a knowing eye over the two men who had just entered, and particularly over the cheap-looking suitcase the younger one was carrying.
‘Morning, gents,’ he said. ‘You selling something?’
‘No,’ said Jago, ‘we’re the police. Are you the landlord?’
‘Er, yes, I am, as it happens. And before you start, I was just about to say I don’t want any black-market stuff going on in here. This is a respectable public house, you know.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Jago, quite certain that the conversation would have taken a different direction if the man hadn’t been entertaining two members of the Metropolitan Police. ‘I understand you have a barmaid called Elsie. Is she here?’
‘Elsie Marwell? Yes, she is. Only part-time, a few shifts a week, but I’d have her here every day if I could – she’s one of my best. You’ll find her through in the public bar. There’s two of the girls in there – she’s the shorter one, dark hair. Not in trouble, is she?’
‘No, we just want a word. Is there somewhere we can speak to her in private?’
‘Yes. Tell her I said you could use the back room.’
The public bar was busier than the saloon, but not yet crowded. A few men were drinking, and a boisterous game of darts was underway at the far end. Two young women in their mid-twenties were behind the bar. The taller of them, with extravagant blonde hair, was serving drinks, but the shorter one, a robust-looking brunette with a firm jaw, appeared to be locked in a fierce altercation with a heavily built man a good foot taller than herself. Jago held Cradock back while he observed the proceedings. They weren’t close enough to hear everything the barmaid said, but she was looking the man straight in the eye, and from the jut of her chin and the sharp working of her mouth he could tell she was having serious words with him. As they approached the bar they saw her fling her arm out towards the door and heard her say, ‘Just get out.’
Jago watched the man skulk out of the door and waited at the bar while the barmaid adjusted a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place during her argument.
‘Was he giving you trouble?’ he said.
‘He probably thought he was,’ she replied, ‘but it was nothing. He’s only been in here five minutes and he starts getting fresh. A bit forward, if you know what I mean, and when I told him to go and wash his mouth out he got a bit uppity. So I told him to sling his hook. I won’t be spoken to like that. If a customer can’t keep a civil tongue in his head he can go and buy his pint somewhere else.’
‘What does your landlord think about that?’
‘He says he wishes some of the other staff here would do the same. We’ve had girls working behind this bar who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. They don’t last long. Just kids, some of them. If you don’t stand up to these types they’ll be all over you. I tell them where to get off, and as far as I’m concerned they can take a running jump. Now, you two gentlemen look altogether more civilised specimens. What can I get you to drink?’
‘Nothing, thank you – we’re here on business. We’re police officers and we understand you’re Joan Lewis’s sister-in-law. We’d just l
ike to have a word with you in private – the landlord says we can use the back room, so perhaps you could show us the way.’
‘Police? Right, well, yes, you’d better come with me.’
She beckoned to the other woman, who was pulling a drink at the far end of the bar.
‘Cover for me for a tick, will you, Anne? Just got to have a word – shan’t be long.’
She took Jago and Cradock into a room at the back of the pub and offered them each a chair.
‘Mrs Marwell?’ asked Jago. ‘Is that correct?’
‘Yes, that’s my name. What do you want to know?’
‘I understand you and your husband live with your mother in Carnarvon Road.’
‘Yes, we did have our own place but we were bombed out, and she took us in. It’s only one room – not ideal, but it’s better than having to leave the area or get something temporary that’s not fit for human habitation.’
‘And your husband?’
‘I know what you’re thinking – what kind of man lets his wife work behind the bar in a place like this? I’ll tell you what kind – a man who means well but doesn’t bring enough money home of a Friday. He works at Addingtons, the varnish factory in Carpenters Road – they make something for putting on aeroplane wings now, for the RAF. Do you know the place?’
‘Yes, I believe I’ve been past it, but never inside.’
‘Well, it’s not much to speak of, but at least he gets a bit of overtime – it’s shifts, and he has to go in and do extra hours at all sorts of odd times, but it’s still not enough. I want him to get into office work, accounts or something, but he’d have to study for exams to do that, and somehow he’s never got time for it.’
‘These air raids have made life busier for everyone.’
‘I grant you that, but he manages to find time for his mates, and for his amateur dramatics. That’s all been cut back, of course, what with the war and everything. They don’t do proper performances like they used to, and I keep telling him he should use the time for studying, but he says they’re doing play-readings instead, whatever that means. I suppose it means they sit around and read a play – strikes me as a complete waste of time, but it seems to keep him happy.’