by Mike Hollow
‘Mr Marwell?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Detective Inspector Jago, and this is Detective Constable Cradock. We’d just like a quick word with you.’
‘Of course,’ said Marwell. He looked from one to the other again, and his hand went to the front of his overalls, as if he were worried that one of the buttons on his chest might be undone.
‘Excuse me, Officers,’ he said quickly. ‘I must look a terrible mess, but it’s dirty work here, and I’m just one of the plebs – it’s only the men at the top who wear suits. Still, at least I’m doing my bit for the war effort, not just sitting around making money out of other people’s misfortunes.’
‘Are you thinking of anyone in particular?’
‘No, I just reckon that in times like these there’s plenty of characters who manage to do good business out of a war. If that were me, I’d feel ashamed – I’d rather do some filthy job in a factory for next to nothing but go home with a clear conscience. Like yourselves, I’m sure.’
Jago declined to follow this line of conversation.
‘We won’t take much of your time. I just want to ask you a few questions,’ he said.
‘Right. Yes, of course.’ His voice was subdued. ‘I suppose this is to do with Joan, is it?’
‘That’s right. You’re aware of what’s happened?’
‘Yes, my wife told me yesterday – that’s Elsie. You’ve met her, haven’t you? She’d heard from her mother while I was here at work.’
Marwell took a packet of Capstan from his pocket and put a cigarette in his mouth. He struck a match to light it, but it went out. He struck another and managed to get the cigarette lighted. He tossed the spent matches away, his hand shaking slightly. He looked up at Jago.
‘Forgive me, Inspector,’ he said, extending the packet of cigarettes towards him. ‘I wasn’t thinking. Would you like one?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Jago.
Marwell offered one to Cradock, who shook his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he continued. ‘You must think I’m a nervous wreck. It’s just the thought of poor Joan …’ His voice tailed off for a moment. ‘Really, it’s the last thing I’d have imagined happening. I mean, people are getting killed in air raids every day – it seems like it’s part of normal life now. But not something like this. My wife told me Joan had been strangled.’ He gave a shudder. ‘It’s unthinkable.’
‘How did you get on with Joan?’
‘She was a nice girl. I can’t say I knew her particularly well. I mean, your wife’s brother’s wife – it’s one of those relationships we don’t even have a word for.’
‘What were your movements on Sunday evening?’
‘Nothing special. It was my day off, so I was just generally catching up on odd jobs at home – mending my bike, things like that. I was due back on fire-watching duty Sunday night, so I was trying not to do anything too tiring in the daytime. Then in the evening I was at home, apart from going out to walk Elsie home from the pub. She gets a bit nervous with all these air raids, you see.’
‘Your wife tells us that you passed a sailor lying on the street on your way home. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘Do you remember what time it was?’
‘Well, we left the pub at about half past eight, so it must have been just a few minutes after that.’
‘And do you remember where this was?’
‘Yes, it was on the corner of Martin Street. You know it? Down between Station Street and Angel Lane. He was lying in a shop doorway.’
‘And later in the evening you came here for your fire-watching duty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did that take you past Martin Street again?’
‘Yes, it did.’
‘Did you notice whether the sailor was still there?’
‘No, he’d gone.’
‘Can you remember what time that was?’
‘Well, my shift started at ten o’clock and I was there on time, so I imagine it would have been about a quarter to ten, ten to ten, something like that.’
‘When we spoke to your wife she told us the sailor was wearing his cap when you saw him on your way home. Is that correct?’
‘Sorry, I don’t recall. My wife’s better at remembering details than I am – doesn’t miss much, you know, our Elsie. She’s very reliable in that respect. Very thorough.’
‘Indeed. Well, thank you anyway, Mr Marwell. That’s all we need to know at the moment.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
At a quarter past seven on Wednesday morning Jago walked slowly down West Ham Lane towards Rita’s cafe, lost in thought. He’d set off early to have time to think, but also to ensure that he’d arrive before Dorothy and be there to welcome her. He felt a strange warmth at the prospect of seeing her again. His brief visit with her to the Cenotaph on Monday evening had stirred memories of men long since lost to death, their faces, laughter and tears now decayed to dust, but she was different – so alive, so brightly present here and now in his life. He’d made up his mind not to live in the past, and she was the one who’d provoked him to break free of it. He wanted to be part of her world, not just to trudge through life in a bleak solitude and then slip away unnoticed.
In the midst of these thoughts he became aware of cheery whistling coming from behind him. He recognised the tune – it was ‘Oh, Johnny, Oh’, an American song from the end of the last war that had become popular all over again. The only person likely to be whistling on the street at this time of the morning was the milkman, and he turned round expecting to see a man – or these days possibly a woman – with a milk float and horse. What he saw, in fact, was the approaching figure of Cradock, walking briskly to catch up with him.
‘Morning, guv’nor,’ said the young detective constable, with a broad smile.
‘You’re looking very bright and breezy today,’ said Jago. ‘What’s happened?’
‘An early start, sir. You know – up with the lark, catch the best of the day.’
‘Ah, I see. So you managed to get out of bed in time to catch Tom Gracewell.’
‘That’s right, sir. And I found out who was on the beat in Martin Street on Sunday evening. It was Ted Watson, and he was on early turn today, so I spoke to him too.’
‘Good. What did he say?’
‘Ted Watson, sir?’
‘Yes. Did he confirm speaking to our sailor?’
‘Yes. He said he found him lying in the shop doorway looking asleep and smelling of drink. He said it’s not the first time he’s come across men in uniform in that sort of state, but he reckons it’s because now there’s conscription they’re getting all sorts of undesirables in the forces.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. I’ve known Ted Watson for years – he’s an old-timer.’
‘Yes, a bit quaint, really, I thought. Very serious in the way he talked. He had the Police Code off pat – you know, that bit where it says we should constantly endeavour to maintain the most friendly feeling with soldiers and sailors. He said it doesn’t say anything about whether they’re conscripts or not, so he endeavoured, and was very gentle with him. Said he doesn’t take the same line with merchant seamen, because the Police Code doesn’t say that about them.’
‘Yes, but what does he say about Ernie Sullivan?’
‘He said because the bloke was a sailor he didn’t take his name, but judging by where Ted says he found him I reckon it must’ve been him. Ted said he just woke him up with a gentle prod of his truncheon and moved him on.’
‘And what about the cap and the torch?’
‘He said the torch was there, switched off, and the cap was there too, lying on the ground.’
‘Did he make a note of what time he moved him on?’
‘Yes, he doesn’t miss a trick, does Ted – said the time was a quarter to nine.’
‘And what did Tom Gracewell have to say?’
‘Well, I asked him if he’d seen or heard anything
on his beat that might suggest Joan was on the game, and he said no, nothing. In fact he didn’t know anything about her, so either she was very good at keeping her affairs private or she was a decent, law-abiding resident. And the fingerprint boys said they had nothing on record for her.’
‘Right. Thank you, Peter.’
‘Oh, and yesterday evening I tracked down the regular ARP warden for Joan’s road, but he said he hadn’t seen anything significant. She’d only moved in about three weeks ago and she often seemed to be out in the evenings, so he’d barely seen her. Nothing suspicious to report, and no indication that there was anything immoral going on in the flat.’
‘Very good. So I expect after all that you’ve worked up a good appetite.’
‘Definitely, sir – especially if it’s your treat.’
‘Yes, well, just make sure you leave something for any other customers Rita may have today, won’t you?’
They arrived at the cafe and were shown to a table by Rita. Jago was pleased to hear that they’d got there before Dorothy, and even more pleased to see her when she came through the door a few minutes later.
‘Morning, dear,’ said Rita, standing back slightly and looking her up and down, as was her habit. ‘Very nice to see you.’
‘Thanks, Rita,’ said Dorothy. ‘And how are you? Everything’s going OK with the cafe?’
‘All tickety-boo, thank you. It’s a bit tricky getting the supplies in, what with the war, but mustn’t grumble.’
‘And how’s your daughter? Emily, isn’t it?’
‘She’s fine. She told me she’d had a lovely time at the pictures Sunday night with young Mr Cradock here. They went to the Regal, but I don’t know what they saw. Anyway, is it eggs and bacon for everyone?’
‘I think so, yes,’ said Jago.
‘Righto. Back in two shakes,’ said Rita, and set off for the kitchen.
Jago turned to Cradock and raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘How strange. You didn’t tell me that, Peter, did you? We spent all that time at the Regal on Monday morning talking about the money stolen from their safe, and you didn’t even mention that you’d been there the previous evening.’
‘Er, well, it was rather a private matter, wasn’t it?’ Cradock replied. ‘Me being there with Emily, I mean. I, er, well, I didn’t really want to bring it up. I suppose I was a bit embarrassed, really.’
‘There’s no need for you to feel embarrassed,’ said Dorothy. ‘You’re among friends here, and I for one would like to know how you got on.’
‘All right. But you won’t tell Rita anything I say, will you?’
‘Of course not. Now, was this the second time you’ve taken Emily to the movies?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you take my advice? You didn’t do anything to scare her?’
‘Yes, I did – I mean no, I didn’t. It was a bit scary for me, actually. She did that thing you talked about – you know, she looked me in the eye when I was talking to her, she smiled at me, nodded her head and leant towards me a bit, just like you said.’
As Jago heard Cradock’s words, he had a disturbing recollection of being in the churchyard at All Saints’ Church, sitting side by side with Dorothy in the fading light of evening, and of the particular way in which she had spoken to him. He glanced up, hoping she hadn’t noticed the look of surprise that he was sure must have crossed his face. Her expression betrayed nothing, but for some reason she was looking at him while she continued her conversation with Cradock.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Just like I said – that means she likes you.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Cradock.
‘So did you hold her hand this time?’
‘No. I still wasn’t sure whether I should. Especially if she does like me.’
Jago pitied the poor boy. He had the feeling that between them, Rita and Emily were weaving a web, and Cradock was the hapless fly. But he suspected too that this fly didn’t mind being caught.
Cradock was spared further embarrassment by the arrival of Rita with their breakfasts. She set down a plate of bacon and eggs and a mug of tea in front of each one of them, wiped an imaginary spot of dust from the tablecloth, and went off to attend to her other customers.
Something in Jago compelled him to turn the conversation towards less personal matters.
‘So, what news is there from the other side of the Atlantic?’ he said as breezily as he could manage.
‘Mostly it’s about the election, as far as I can tell,’ said Dorothy, ‘although maybe that’s because most of the people I hear from over there are journalists.’
‘That’s the presidential election, is it?’
‘That’s right – on November fifth.’
Jago couldn’t help laughing. ‘What a great choice of date! The day Guy Fawkes tried to blow our parliament up with barrels of gunpowder in the cellar.’
‘Yes, well I’m sure ours will be an exciting event, but hopefully not as exciting as that. I’ve heard your own elections here may be postponed, though. You’re supposed to have a general election this year, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. The last one was in November 1935, and the law says a parliament can only last five years, so that means we ought to be having an election by next month. But now the government’s talking about delaying it for a year because of the war, so who knows when it’ll be? We’ll just have to add it to all the fun we’re going to have when this war’s over.’
‘Well, the result we get in the States next month could have a significant influence on how soon that day comes.’
‘Is the war a big issue?’
‘It certainly is, and especially what we can do to keep out of it. The Republicans have been saying Roosevelt’s too keen on war and he’s supporting you British too much when he should be building up our own defences instead, and the Democrats are accusing the Republicans of being sympathetic to the fascists.’
‘Who do you think will win?’
‘It’s difficult to say. Back in June it looked like the Republicans would win and had a strong candidate in Wendell Willkie, but now it’s not so clear. Roosevelt’s been ahead in the polls, but it could be a close-run thing.’
Cradock followed this conversation, looking from Jago to Dorothy and back again and realising that he didn’t know the first thing about American politics.
‘So what result would be best for us?’ he interjected, hoping this remark would not sound too stupid. ‘For Britain, I mean. Who do we want to win?’
‘An interesting question, Peter,’ Dorothy replied, to his ill-concealed pleasure. ‘Although you have to remember it isn’t always a clear-cut issue. I believe it was one of your English lords – Lord Morley – who once said an election offers the voters an opportunity to make a choice between two mistakes. You might think it’s obvious that we should join the war on your side, but there are plenty of influential people in the States who want to keep the country out of it. Charles Lindbergh, for example. You know – the famous aviator.’
‘The one whose baby boy was kidnapped?’
‘That’s the one. A few weeks back they set up a thing called the America First Committee – they’re very opposed to Roosevelt, because they think he wants to drag America into the war.’
‘And does he?’
‘Well, I’m not sure I can tell you what he wants. He’s talked a lot about keeping America out of the war too, but at the same time he’s been helping you. We’ve been here before, of course. In the last war President Wilson did everything he could to keep America neutral. He’d seen what the Civil War did to our country and he didn’t want to put us through that kind of destruction and suffering again. When he campaigned for his second term in 1916 his slogan was “He’s kept us out of war”. And just like now, we weren’t ready for it. It was only when German submarines started sinking our ships that he was finally persuaded, and Congress voted for war.’
‘Roosevelt’s the one who gave us those fifty destroyers, isn’t he?
Doesn’t that mean he’s on our side?’
‘According to people I’ve spoken to in London, both candidates know that Germany’s a huge threat to the USA, and that you’re our last line of defence against it. My friends in Washington say President Roosevelt’s biggest fear is that if Britain’s defeated the Royal Navy will fall into German hands, and then Germany will be unstoppable – and America will be its next target. He can see you’ve got your backs to the wall and he doesn’t want you to lose – that’s why he pushed that destroyer deal through.’
‘No wonder he’s worried,’ said Cradock, moved by a vague sense of obligation to be patriotic when talking to Dorothy. ‘We’ve got the biggest fleet in the world.’
‘It certainly worries me, dear, I don’t mind telling you,’ said another voice, joining the discussion. It was Rita, who had arrived noiselessly at Cradock’s shoulder. Jago looked up and saw her staring down at him, notebook in hand, as if expecting him to say something.
‘What’s that?’ he said. ‘What worries you?’
‘The war, of course. I’m a Gemini, see.’
‘A Gemini?’
‘Yes, my star sign. Geminis always worry, although you wouldn’t know it because they hide their troubles behind their light-hearted exterior.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. They’re good-natured, kind and affectionate. And unselfish too. I thought you’d know about that sort of thing, Mr Jago, what with you being a detective. Understanding what makes people tick.’
‘I see. For some reason the Metropolitan Police Service doesn’t include star signs in its training for detectives.’
‘They will one day, you mark my words. You can’t just rely on fingerprints and alibis. You’ve got to understand the heart. Men don’t see that kind of thing, though, do they? You want to get some women detectives, that’s what you should do. Some Geminis. They’re quick, you know – lots of insight into human nature. And Geminis make very good wives – that’s what they say.’
‘You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you?’ Jago replied, and immediately felt guilty when he saw Rita’s crushed expression.