Murders in the Blitz

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Murders in the Blitz Page 4

by Julia Underwood


  The bathroom’s chill drove her to plunge into the steaming water; what luxury. The cold tiles spangled with condensation and, until warmth seeped into her body, she shivered.

  The water had cooled and her fingers became wrinkled and pallid before she emerged and wrapped herself in big towels. She rubbed dry and stood before the tall cheval mirror in her bedroom regarding her naked body critically. Even after the summer, admittedly not a sunny one, her skin was white as milk with a smattering of freckles on her arms.

  ‘You’re so pale,’ Pete had said, regarding her critically. ‘You should get a tan – you’d look healthier.’

  ‘I just burn in the sun, Pete. It’s the red hair, always goes with pale skin. Though I know an auburn girl who tans beautifully,’ she added regretfully.

  Now she shuddered. Her paleness reminded of her of the cold corpse found in the alley and the blue, dead tinge of the skin. Eve dressed fast, anxious to leave. She needed company; being alone was making her morbid.

  Soon Eve was on the train to Stonebridge Park. The station couldn’t have been closer to the house. The line ran at the end of the back garden, and you could hear the sound of carriage doors slamming as passengers disembarked. A footbridge over the line led into the street.

  She pushed open the gate of the semi-detached house and walked up the crazy-paved path. The bell hadn’t worked for years, so she knocked on the door’s stained glass panel. She heard her mother’s voice from inside.

  ‘Go and see who that is, Jack. If it’s one of them spivs, send them away with a flea in their ear.’

  Her father grumbled mildly as he wheezed to the door.

  ‘What a lovely surprise!’ Joy lit his face as he hugged her. ‘It’s Evie come to visit. Come in, love, it’s marvellous to see you.’

  Dad pulled her into the dark hallway, painted sombre brown and floored with equally dark lino made to resemble marble. The hall was too narrow to walk side by side so Eve followed Dad into the back room overlooking the garden. The door to the front parlour was firmly closed and would not be opened until the next family celebration, except when Mum dusted.

  A crumpled Daily Mirror lay on Dad’s armchair, a solid piece of furniture covered in green uncut moquette, a fabric that Eve abhorred for its scratchiness, but Mum had pronounced hardwearing and practical.

  Mrs Duncan joined them in the sitting room, drying her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’ she asked without any show of affection or pleasure. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ said Eve, not moving forward for an embrace, ‘I was let off early. I’ll explain in a minute. I’ve got some exciting news.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got time to hear it now. I’m busy in the kitchen. Tell us over supper,’ she was already moving away. ‘I imagine you’ll be wanting some supper, will you?’ The words shot back as a passing reproof.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ said Jack, ‘She’s been in a mood all day. I think she’s worried about this invasion everyone’s talking about. The paper’s full of it, as well as daft advice about what to do if we meet a Jerry in the street.’

  ‘I try not to read the papers,’ said Eve, ‘they just give everyone the wind up and there’s not a lot we can do to stop it, is there? I listen to the news on the wireless. Sorry, Dad, I’d better go and help Mum in the kitchen. After all, she wasn’t expecting me; I don’t want to pinch your rations if you haven’t got enough.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, girl, there’s always enough for my daughters. I don’t know what we’re having, but she’s a wonder with next to nothing.’ He sat down and picked up the paper, lighting a Craven A from the packet by the chair.

  Eve crossed the hall into the kitchen and staggered at the stench that billowed out.

  ‘Good God, Mum. What on earth are you cooking? It smells revolting.’

  ‘Tripe and onions. Your dad likes it. Can’t say it’s my favourite, but it’s cheap and not on ration so I cook it now and then. It does stink though. Better open the back door, then it won’t be so bad.’

  Eve did as she was told and breathed in the evening air, tainted by the scent of the backyard chickens, but better than the odour of tripe and onions cooking. Maybe she wouldn’t stay for supper after all.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re not having that tonight,’ said Mum, as if reading her thoughts. ‘It takes an age to cook so I started it this afternoon. I’ve got some ham and salad for tonight; there’s plenty for you.’

  Eve tried not to show her relief. ‘Thanks Mum. But are you sure there’s enough? ’

  ‘We’ll have some hot new potatoes with it. Your Dad’s got a good crop this year and they’ve lots of flavour. I’ll hard-boil some eggs; the hens are laying well this month.’

  The back garden had been given over to the growing of vegetables since war broke out and rations were boosted with the addition of the laying hens. Almost every household in the suburbs used their garden in this way and it staved off hardship.

  Eve scrubbed some new potatoes and helped prepare the salad while they boiled. Jack joined them at the table. Eve discovered that she was famished. It had been six hours since the potato soup at the PRC.

  They discussed Eve’s sisters, Grace and Hope, and Eve answered questions about Pete, without divulging much. Eve knew her parents would be horrified at the precise nature of her relationship with the young policeman.

  ‘We’re going to the Hammersmith Palais on Wednesday, Mum. We try to go about once a month.’

  ‘Your Dad and I used to go dancing. The Alhambra. Remember, Jack?’

  ‘Yes, my love, I remember it well. Your Charleston was legendry.’ He smiled fondly at the memory.

  ‘That must have been in the 20s,’ said Eve, ‘We were all born by then. Who looked after us while you were out gallivanting?’

  ‘My Mum lived with us then. She had the back bedroom, sharing with Grace.’

  ‘Blimey, the house must have been crowded.’

  ‘You’re a caution you are, Miss Evie, with your fancy ideas and wanting a bedroom each. Everyone lived crowded in them days. Never space to swing a cat.’

  Mum opened a precious tin of pineapple chunks for pudding. Eve thought it was time she told them what she was doing.

  Within seconds of Eve starting her tale Mrs Duncan was in turmoil. She clamped her hands to her mouth in horror, but her nature couldn’t prevent her from uttering the words that forced their way out.

  ‘For Gawd’s sake, Evie. Murder! How have you managed to get mixed up in a murder?’ she wailed. ‘That’s dangerous; anything could happen to you.’

  Dad tried to comfort her, awkwardly patting her shoulder.

  ‘There, there, old dear, I’m sure the police will see she doesn’t come to harm.’

  ‘But there’s foreigners involved. Them Poles, and Czechs too, like as not. You know you can’t trust no bunch of foreigners, Jack.’

  Jack persisted with futile patting whilst Mrs Duncan sobbed.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum, truly, we’re only helping, looking for witnesses. Charlie’s with me. We’re not even positive it is the girl from the PRC. Inspector Reed wouldn’t let me get into anything dangerous.’ Eve reassured them.

  ‘But you never know what might happen. There’s a murderer out there who may not take kindly to your meddling. And you just a slip of a girl too.’

  ‘It’ll be fine. I’m not that helpless, Mum. I’m in charge of twenty girls at Mount Pleasant and that’s no picnic I can tell you.’

  ‘But they’re not murderers, going around killing people. Whatever next? I don’t know what that Mr Gibbon was thinking, letting you off work. I thought this censoring malarkey was important,’ she said, warming to her theme. ‘It’s a disgrace, allowing you to help the police, as if they haven’t got people of their own.’

  ‘That’s the point, Mum. They haven’t got enough people of their own; they’ve all joined up. Inspector Reed especially wanted a woman.’

  Mrs
Duncan wiped her reddened face with the tea towel. ‘I still don’t think it’s good enough. But I know you’ll do what you want, like you always do. You won’t listen to me whatever I say.’

  Eve looked at her father in amused despair. Every argument with her mother ended this way. How she hated no longer having control over her children.

  ‘I thought you’d like to know what I’m doing. I didn’t think you’d make a tragedy out of it. I’m fine and going to stay fine. Nothing will happen to me, Mum.’

  Jack winked at Eve as her mother cleared the table noisily.

  ‘Go into the other room,’ she said, ‘I’ll bring tea in a minute. Turn the wireless on, Jack; there’ll be the news soon.’

  Obediently they moved to the sitting room where Eve had to push Micky off her chair. The placid tabby budged reluctantly. He had become stout and indolent and was the reason that Eve had left Jake behind. The terrier’s enthusiastic and determined attentions caused the lazy feline great distress. Micky’s claim to fame was that when he was taken to the vet to be ‘done’, he had escaped and trekked home, over a mile. This achievement was met with such admiration that Micky was allowed to retain his manhood and he became the scourge of the neighbourhood. Many litters of sturdy kittens had benefitted from his parenthood.

  After Mum brought in the tea, with chocolate biscuits - a rarity nowadays - they listened to the news. The imminent possibility of German invasion, at some unspecified point along the South Coast, was mentioned. The news ended with admonitions of what to do if the enemy was in your street: to hide your food and make sure that vehicles were out of commission, and any fuel safely hidden.

  ‘Goodness knows where we’re supposed to put all that stuff,’ said Jack.

  ‘Let’s hope they don’t come,’ said Eve. ‘We haven’t been invaded since William the Conqueror. We won’t make it easy for Hitler now.’

  The news ended with another warning.

  ‘There is a high possibility that bombing of our cities will commence shortly. Make sure that your air-raid precautions are in place and that your family know where to shelter when the siren sounds.

  ‘Here ends the news. This has been Alvar Liddell reading it.’

  There were no details of the weather, of damage or casualties caused by aerial fighting, or anything that might aid the enemy.

  It was half past nine when they stopped listening. Eve knew her parents would be going to bed soon, as both were early risers.

  ‘Time I went, Mum, Dad. Thanks for the supper. I’ll bring you some of my rations next time, so you’re not short. And don’t worry about me – nothing bad is going to happen.’

  When she was ready and stood on the doorstep, Jack gave her a hug.

  ‘Look after yourself, kid. I know you’re the most sensible of my three girls. You won’t take any risks. Come and see us when you can. Tata, love.’

  Mrs Duncan stood behind him as Eve walked to the gate, a screwed up handkerchief between her fingers and an anguished expression on her face. Eve was aware that her mother would never say anything, but she knew that she was loved.

  Chapter Eight

  Because she had arrived home early from Wembley yesterday, and after walking Jake, she was in bed by 10.30, Eve woke on Tuesday morning full of energy.

  Having dressed and seen to Jake she walked directly to the police station. The place still buzzed with the fire at the factory and officers bustled backwards and forwards in what appeared chaos to Eve’s eyes. Pete would be home sleeping, as he had been on the night shift. She sat quietly by the front desk waiting until someone noticed her and observed the comings and goings with interest. Wartime and danger hadn’t decreased the numbers of timewasters and nuisances that bothered the desk sergeant of a busy station. Eve couldn’t help admiring his forbearance.

  After she had lingered for nearly an hour someone came in whom Eve recognised. The officer walked straight up to the desk with a swagger born of authority. If he noticed Eve’s presence he didn’t acknowledge it.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Simon Parkes addressed the Sergeant. ‘I need to speak to someone about the murder.’

  ‘Murder, sir? Has there been a murder? Wait a minute and I’ll write down the details.’

  ‘Not a new murder.’ A note of impatience entered Simon’s upper class voice. ‘The one on Sunday night. I think they’re waiting for the result of a post mortem.’

  The desk sergeant looked baffled, as if no-one had told him about a murder on Sunday. Eve stood and approached the desk. Major Parkes turned and stared as if he’d been unaware of her presence.

  ‘Why, Miss Duncan! What a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘Good morning, Major Parkes. Don’t worry, George,’ she said to the Sergeant, ‘I’ll explain to the Major.’

  Eve drew Parkes to the bench against the wall. He sat down carefully, easing his stiff leg and leaning his walking stick beside the seat.

  ‘I’m waiting to see Inspector Reed now,’ said Eve. ‘There was an incident at the factory yesterday and the pathologist was too busy to do the PM on the murdered girl. I’ve been waiting for ages to see what’s happening today and no-one’s even noticed me yet.’

  ‘I need to know what’s going on,’ said the major. ‘It’s causing disruption at the Centre. The girls are in hysterics half the time and the men aren’t much better. There’s still no sign of Zoya, so I suppose we must presume that the body is hers. But we need to get it confirmed before morale goes completely to pieces.’

  Eve could see that Major Parkes had become seriously perturbed and she had sympathy with him. His relaxed demeanour had been replaced by urgency and dismay. Perhaps this was finally some-one who cared as much about the murdered girl as she did.

  She tried to reassure him. ‘We’ll know what’s happening soon. Someone is bound to come and talk to us.’

  They sat together and waited. It was another half an hour before a constable came to speak to them.

  ‘Inspector sends his apologies, Miss. He says the pathologist will be doing the post mortem some time before lunch. And can you take someone to identify the body this afternoon,’ the man consulted his notebook, ‘around two thirty.’

  ‘Thank you, Constable. I’ll arrange that.’ Eve prepared to leave the police station with Major Parkes limping in her wake.

  When they were on the pavement the major consulted his watch.

  ‘It’s nearly eleven; they’ll be open soon. Let’s get a quick drink and try to think about something other than this bloody murder.’

  Eve agreed and they were soon in the cosy snug of a pub that she was unfamiliar with. A good sight posher than the Bush, this bar had padded chairs and polished tables, and a relatively clean carpet.

  ‘Thank you, Major,’ Eve said as he deposited her half of shandy on the table.

  ‘For goodness sake, call me Simon. It looks as if we may be spending a fair amount of time together. I don’t do that formal stuff.’

  He settled into his seat and sipped; it looked like a pink gin. A bit strong for a morning tipple, thought Eve. But he probably needs a boost. A houseful of hysterical foreign women must put a strain on the poor man.

  Simon drew a silver cigarette case from his pocket and offered it to Eve. She accepted one gratefully. She wasn’t much of a smoker, unlike Charlie and Pete, a couple of chimneys, but she did enjoy one with a drink.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, inhaling the soothing fumes, and relaxed. Simon had put the cigarette case on the table. She took it and idly turned it over. Engraved on the rear was an emblem she had not seen before. A majestic eagle with upswept wings flew with an elaborately decorated staff held in its talons above the initials - P.J.

  ‘P.J.? Those aren’t your initials. You naughty man, you haven’t pinched it have you?’

  Simon snatched the case from her and, with a frown, put it back in his pocket. Instantly the urbane smile returned to his handsome features. ‘No, it’s to do with a club I belong to.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’


  ‘Nothing interesting. A sort of sporting club.’

  He clearly didn’t want Eve to pursue the subject so she left it. But curiosity was bubbling in her head. What was the lovely major hiding and what was this club that he belonged to? She was determined to find out.

  Simon had to return to work and Eve accompanied him to arrange for someone to come and view the body after lunch. Simon disappeared into his office and Eve was left with Rachel.

  ‘Please could you ask a couple of them to come and identify the body, Miss Archer? There should be two, for moral support, I expect they’ll be upset afterwards.’

  ‘Oh, you really think it might be Zoya then?’

  ‘Almost certainly. She hasn’t turned up for work for two days and you haven’t seen her here, have you?’

  ‘No. I’ve been surprised at her absence. Zoya is the last of them I would expect to go AWOL. She at least seemed to be sensible and reliable. It’s all most unfortunate.’

  That’s a bit of an understatement, thought Eve. ‘Well, if you could arrange for them to be at the morgue at two thirty, I’d be most grateful.’

  She gave Miss Archer the directions and left to find Charlie. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon and needed to bring him up to speed; he’d want to know what was up.

  She found him on a china stall in Shepherd’s Bush market.

  ‘Come on, ladies,’ he was yelling with his most beguiling costermonger’s sales patter, balancing fans of cheap crockery in his hands like packs of cards. ‘Just today; special offer! A complete tea set - half price. Can’t say fairer than that, ladies. Just four quid. Buy now and I can let you have the teapot free. Thank you, madam. Take your box from the pile over there. Now, sir, what can I do for you...?’

  Eve watched his skilled performance for a while and then wandered off to peruse the other stalls. She bought some fruit and vegetables and was returning to find Charlie when a hand fell on her shoulder.

  ‘Hello, hello. And what are you up to, young lady?’

 

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