Murders in the Blitz

by Julia Underwood

  ‘It looks as if her neck’s broken. Very clean job; I can’t see a mark on her. They’ll take a closer look at the morgue.’

  ‘Any idea when she died, Doc?’ asked the police sergeant who had joined them.

  ‘I’ll let you know later. Not more than six hours ago, I’d say; sometime during the afternoon.’

  The coroner’s van arrived and parked close to the end of the alley, backing on to the pavement so that the rear doors opened near the body. Two men carefully lifted the girl onto a stretcher and put her in the van to transport her to the mortuary, where a post mortem would be conducted.

  Eve watched sadly as the van’s doors slammed.

  ‘Would you mind coming to the station to answer a few questions?’ the Sergeant asked Eve and Charlie.

  They couldn’t put up much objection in the circumstances, but Eve felt irritated that the rest of the evening was ruined. The fire would have gone out by the time she got home and tomorrow she had to go to work early.

  Soon they were seated in an interview room. Pete, working out front, had been surprised to see them when they were escorted in.

  ‘Eve, Charlie! What are you doing here?’

  Eve waved a cheerful hand; he probably thought Charlie had led her astray.

  ‘Tell you later, Pete, nothing to worry about. They’re going to ask us some questions about a body.’ She could see that this explanation did little to calm Pete’s fears.

  The pair were interviewed together, with Jake sprawled at their feet. This told Eve that they weren’t suspects, or they would have been questioned separately to see if their stories were inconsistent. Anyway, they had nothing to worry about because the police only had to speak to Bill in the pub, and a host of other witnesses, to confirm that they had left only minutes before Charlie reported the body.

  After they had established names and addresses, places of work and, in Charlie’s case, the inevitable questions about his absence from the Forces – ‘it’s me eyes, mate, blind as a bat, me’ – more pertinent enquiries began.

  ‘Did you know the young woman?’ asked the Police Sergeant interviewing them; the same man whom they had met in the alleyway.

  ‘No, never seen her before. But there’s a lot of new people round here and more turning up all the time,’ said Eve, ‘refugees, evacuees and such.’

  ‘Do you know who found the body?’

  Charlie explained about the group of people standing over the corpse when they arrived and the babble of conversation that made it unclear who arrived first.

  ‘They all disappeared; went home I suppose. Doesn’t matter, they weren’t doing nothing about it.’

  ‘Nonetheless, we will want to interview them.’

  ‘I don’t know how you’re going to find them. They could be anywhere.’

  ‘We’ll do a house to house in the morning; see if they live nearby or if anyone noticed anything.’

  ‘There weren’t many people about,’ Eve pointed out, ‘it’s been so wet all day and I expect they stayed at home in the warm, listening to the wireless. It was Victor Sylvester and ITMA,’ she added with regret. “It’s That Man Again” was one of her favourite programmes. She also liked to keep up to date with the news.

  ‘It would be useful if you could make yourselves available tomorrow,’ the man added.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Eve, ‘it’s Monday. I’ve got a job to go to. I can’t just take the day off.’

  ‘I’m sure your employer will make allowances. This looks like a murder, after all, and you’re an important witness.’

  ‘But I didn’t see anything. Just those people standing round the body.’

  Charlie leaned forward, ‘Not much going on on Monday. I can help you,’ he said with unusual generosity.

  ‘Thank you, sir. That is most public spirited of you.’ The man turned to Eve and she relented.

  ‘Oh, all right. But I’ll have to ring my boss from here first thing. He’s not going to be pleased. We’re very shorthanded at the moment. Half the girls are enlisting; they think they’re going to meet men, daft creatures. I’ll have to start training old men to do the work and I’m not sure they’re going to be up to it. They haven’t got the eyes or concentration of my girls.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know censorship is important work. I’ll get the Inspector to put in a word for you. I’m sure it’ll be all right.’

  Eve doubted that, as her boss, Fred Gibbons, was a starchy old git and likely to see her absence as frivolity and an excuse for a holiday. She hoped he wouldn’t dream up some idea of docking her pay; she couldn’t afford that.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the Sergeant said, showing them out. ‘This’ll soon be over. After all, it’s just the murder of some street girl, nothing of real importance.’

  Eve looked at him, aghast. Why was everyone so quick to dismiss and forget about this poor girl’s death?

  Chapter Four

  Pete was working an extra long shift as there was no-one to take over. This was happening more often lately, with young men joining up, eager to fight the Germans.

  ‘Won’t be round tonight,’ he’d whispered to Eve as she left the police station with Charlie. ‘I’m wiped out. See you Wednesday, before the Palais.’

  Just as well, thought Eve, I’ve got a lot to think about. She suspected she would need her sleep, tomorrow could be a long day.

  But sleep was a long time coming. Eve had never seen a corpse before and certainly not a murdered one. She found it odd that she wasn’t nearly as upset as she might have been. Something was urging her to do everything she could to help find the perpetrator if only for the sake of the poor girl. To bring her justice. No-one else seemed to care.

  Morning broke with a clear sky and sunshine, a welcome change. The streets showed little sign of the rains of yesterday when Eve hurried to the Police Station at 8 am. On arrival she rang the Censor Department at Mount Pleasant, using the Desk Sergeant’s telephone. She hoped Mr Gibbon would be in early. The switchboard took ages to connect her and when it did the line crackled and she had to shout.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Gibbon, the police want me to help them with an inquiry. We found a dead body yesterday. I can’t come in today.’

  Her boss, after initial disbelief and grumbling, ultimately gave in with good enough grace and allowed the time off. Eve knew that the department, thanks to her efforts, ran smoothly. A day’s absence would not reduce it to chaos.

  ‘Just one day, mind. I can’t spare you for longer,’ Frank Gibbon said, asserting his authority.

  ‘Put Elsie in charge, Mr Gibbon, she’s the most sensible one,’ Eve said, preparing to hang up. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Fifteen minutes later Eve was shown into the Inspector’s office.

  ‘Take a seat, Miss Duncan. Thank you very much for agreeing to help with this little murder,’ he said standing at his desk. ‘I hope to cause you minimum inconvenience, but I really need your help.’

  Eve regarded the tall, spare, sharp-featured Inspector Reed. He looked like a sensible man, not given to flights of fancy or with stupid ideas about the role of women. When he smiled, as now, his face softened and he spoke with genuine warmth. She just wished he wouldn’t repeat the sentiment that this was a ‘little’ murder. So far as she or the police knew, it could be something of the utmost importance. They weren’t even sure it was a murder yet, until after the post-mortem. The girl was a person, not merely a parcel left in the street. But Eve didn’t think this was the moment to voice her thoughts.

  ‘Of course, sir. I’ll do everything I can to help. I really don’t know much about it. We just saw the people who found...’

  ‘...Yes, I know that, Miss Duncan,’ the Inspector interrupted, ‘that isn’t the whole problem. We are very short staffed, as I’m sure you’re aware. So many people have joined up; even our sole WPC has gone to the WAAFs. I constantly juggle personnel to get investigative teams together. In this case, where matters are not of the first priority, I can’t spare my best men.
You seem a sensible young woman; just the sort that we would like to recruit into the police force. So I was wondering, Miss Duncan, if you would mind helping us out; interviewing witnesses and so on, particularly women, as we have no WPC to do it?’

  This isn’t quite what I had in mind, Eve thought. Sounds like foot-slogging and having to endure abuse from people who don’t want to know about murder, let alone talk to anyone associated with the police.

  ‘There could be some small financial compensation,’ Inspector Reed added persuasively. ‘Of course, you are at liberty to refuse. I’ve spoken to your boss – Mr Gibbon isn’t it? He’s prepared to allow you a few days off. He spoke very highly of you.’

  Eve’s green eyes flashed with fury. ‘What? He never has a good word to say about me normally,’ she said. ‘What’s he doing telling a complete stranger that he thinks highly of me?’

  ‘Steady on, Miss Duncan. No need to get riled up.’ Inspector Reed had obviously caught the flash of green and realised that Eve had a temper. ‘But we need someone for this case who won’t give up at the first hurdle. You look like a girl with determination and persistence; someone who will ferret out information. There’s very little for us to go on. Well, Miss, Duncan, what do you say?’ He waited for her reaction.

  Eve considered for a moment. Sod Gibbon, he would have to do without her. Eve directed a sharp gaze at the Inspector. ‘Thank you for your offer, Inspector Reed. I accept. I will do what I can to bring the criminal to justice.’

  Perhaps I can help the poor girl, thought Eve, and it would offer a bit of excitement. She didn’t have much faith in her ability to uncover a murderer, but she would do her best.

  Chapter Five

  Later, Eve, Charlie and a police constable stood in the street by the alleyway where the body had lain the night before. He supplied them each with a notebook and pencil and waved a hand at the terraces of houses stretching in each direction.

  ‘We’ll split up and knock on a few doors. Find out if any residents were in the alley last night or if they heard anything. The girl must have screamed or something; someone may have heard it. Oh, and make a note of where you’ve been; householders get cross if we keep asking the same questions.’

  ‘What if there’s no-one in? Won’t most of them be at work?’ asked Eve.

  ‘Make a note and someone’ll come back in the evening.’

  The constable went one way, Charlie and Eve the other. They took alternate houses and rang bells. Many of the larger houses had been converted into flats with a list of names on bells by the door. Often the buttons were broken or the resident was reluctant to come down to the main door.

  ‘What are you selling?’ one third floor resident yelled from his window, leaning out perilously. ‘Whatever it is, we don’t want none.’

  ‘We’re making enquiries for the police,’ Eve shouted back. ‘There was a murder here last night. Did you hear anything unusual?’

  ‘Eh?’ said the man, cupping a hand around his ear. ‘Watcha say?’

  ‘That’ll be a ‘no’ then,’ muttered Eve and louder, said, ‘Thank you, sir, sorry to have troubled you.’

  For the rest of the morning they traipsed from house to house; flat to flat. This wasn’t as interesting as Eve had hoped. As predicted, many people were out, at work or queuing for food she supposed, and little was written in the notebook except the names and addresses of those who were unavailable.

  After about an hour Charlie ran to where she stood.

  ‘I’ve found one of the people what was in the alley. He didn’t want to talk about it; scared of the police, I wouldn’t wonder. He said he wasn’t the one that found the body; that was one of the women. Apparently she was in a terrible state when he got there. But he doesn’t know her name.’

  ‘Well, write down his details and a policeman will come and talk to him later.’

  ‘I’ve done that. He wasn’t very happy, but I persuaded him,’ Charlie grinned, ‘used my legendry charm.’

  By 12.30 they had two names to give to the authorities, including that of the lady who had been first at the scene, coming across her by chance as she made her way home from Sainsbury’s with her family’s rations in string bags. Recovered from her initial shock, she was inclined to talk at length, relating every minute detail to Eve in a hushed whisper as if the murderer was hiding nearby, waiting to pounce.

  ‘I was on my way back from our Elsie’s; it was her birthday. Lovely cake she had. Anyway, gave me a terrible turn, it did. Never seen anything like it. Poor girl, left like that, out in the rain. Then them other people turned up and ...’

  Eve listened attentively; the woman had obviously felt as she had, that the girl deserved some consideration for what had happened.

  ‘Someone will come and talk to you later,’ she said, forestalling any further revelations, once she felt the subject had been wrung dry, ‘and you can tell them all about it. Sorry, I have to run now, I’ve got other houses to visit. Toodle-oo.’ And she fled. It looked as if this was going to take longer than she hoped.

  Further along the road Eve met someone who was of real help. The elderly resident of a first floor flat came down to the doorstep and, after confirming that he had seen and heard nothing himself, he pointed to a large, shabby house a few doors away.

  ‘They may know something in there. It’s the Polish Refugee Centre. There’s always a lot of coming and going, men and women, foreigners, all sorts. Some of them in uniform; I think they’re RAF pilots. It’s run by an English bloke, in the Army, but wounded out. If anything’s been noticed he’ll know about it.’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir. You’ve been most helpful,’ Eve turned towards the building. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  The Polish Refugee Centre stood back from the roadside, four storeys high. It was a stuccoed house with steps to the front door protected by a porch supported by two sturdy pillars. Someone had daubed the initials PRC on one pillar in black paint that had trickled. The house’s woodwork and stucco were in poor repair, except for a stencilled sign on new plywood tacked to the door, indicating the purpose of the building. With no bell at the door, Eve tried the brass handle and found she could walk in unhindered and unannounced.

  An intricate pattern of Victorian tiles, in black, white and terracotta, cracked and distorted by wear, paved the floor of the hall. The spacious entrance was painted in dark green below and cream above. A wide staircase on the right rose directly to the first floor and the hallway passed through to the back. Eve could hear a typewriter in one of the closed rooms to her left and the smell of cooking emanated from the basement.

  ‘Come in,’ called a clear masculine voice from the room at the rear. ‘Just walk through.’

  Eve followed the sound into an office that stretched about fifteen feet, from one side of the house to the other and whose three large windows commanded an extensive view of the walled garden at basement level. She noticed that the space was neglected; tangled with bindweed and brambles. Someone had cleared a central area and erected a clothesline, stretched between a plane tree and the back wall of the house, from which an array of clothing waved. Ladies’ underwear hung between a pair of long-johns and a couple of cotton dresses.

  A tall, blond-haired army officer stood behind an imposing desk; a Major so far as Eve could tell. Well, he had a single crown on his epaulets and that’s what she thought it meant. He was supporting himself with a walking stick on his left side, but otherwise seemed to be in good health. Very fit, thought Eve, admiring his fair good looks, bright welcoming smile and dancing blue eyes. He stretched his right hand towards her.

  ‘Hallo. I’m Simon Parkes, Major Parkes if you prefer, pleased to meet you. Sorry I couldn’t come to the door. Not very steady on my pins at present. How can I help you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Eve pulled herself out of her momentary reverie and the delightful fantasy she was weaving of herself and the lovely major... ‘Well- no -sorry. Eve Duncan, sir. I’m helping the police with an investig
ation. A young woman was found dead in the alleyway up the road last night, round the corner, off Shepherds Bush Road, and we are trying to establish who she is and if anyone knows anything about it.’

  ‘Do sit down, Miss Duncan, then I can too.’

  Eve sank onto an office chair and the officer took his own seat, laying his cane on the desk, which was covered with disorderly paperwork, a carafe of water and a bowl of sweets. A black telephone stood on the corner beside a tottering heap of files.

  ‘I’m not sure what I can do for you,’ the major said. ‘But someone else may know something. We’re a hostel and clearing centre for Polish refugees, as you may have gathered. I expect some of them are in and you could certainly question them. We take both men and women, more girls really. Most of them have come here with nothing. Some have been here for a while, but they usually move on to other lives quite quickly. My job is to register them, get them ration books, identity cards and useful jobs if I can. Some of the men are in the RAF, the Polish wing, and they come here for their leave or to recuperate from wounds as they don’t have homes to go to. You can talk to them if you like.’

  ‘That would be very useful, sir, if it’s no inconvenience.’

  ‘Not at all. Happy to help the authorities.’ He beamed at Eve as if to imply that such a slight girl could not be in authority. ‘Look, I’ll get Borys to take you to meet the inmates. He’s our caretaker. It’s nearly lunchtime, you could join us. I’ll be hobbling down later,’ he smiled at her reassuringly and rang a hand bell from the clutter on the desk.

  A few moments later an enormous man in overalls, with a wide tool belt around the waist, lumbered into the room. His grim expression suggested someone on whom the weight of the world bore down heavily. His obvious strength added to his fearsome presence. I wouldn’t want to bump into him on a dark night, thought Eve.