Henry stood up and looked out of the window. ‘I want you to drop the Voight case, Ena.’
Ena took a sharp breath. ‘No!’
‘It’s dangerous.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’
‘Did you know you’re being watched.’
‘Yes. By someone in a green Austin Cambridge. He - or she - was parked along the road when I got home last night. Whoever it is followed Sid and me when we left here yesterday afternoon.’
‘Why was Sid here?’
‘He worked from here. The office was broken into during the night, so, as Artie was going out on a surveillance job, I didn’t want Sid to work from there on his own.’ Henry’s eyes widened and his brow furrowed. ‘Don’t worry, it was only to bug the place.’
‘What?’
‘The flat was bugged too.’
‘When? How?’ Henry left the window. ‘Christ, Ena, what the fuck have you got yourself into?’
‘If you stop shouting and swearing at me, I’ll tell you.’
Henry threw his arms in the air and fell backwards onto the settee. ‘Go on.’
‘Someone, I presume it was a man, was in the flat when I got home the night before last. When he heard me come in, he high-tailed it out of the kitchen window.’
‘Did you get a look at him? Did you see his face?’
‘No. I heard someone in the kitchen, but by the time I got in there he had escaped.’
‘Thank God for that!’
‘Thank God for what? That a thief, spy, or a murderer, got away scot free?’
‘No. That you didn’t see his face. If you can’t identify him, chances are he won’t come after you. Is anything missing?’
‘No. Nothing. I thought I’d scared him off before he’d had time to steal anything. When I got to the office it had been broken into as well. Nothing missing there either, but it had been bugged. Artie was going out so I brought Sid and the files he was working on back here. He oversaw the repair of the kitchen window while I went down to the hospital in Hove.’ Ena thought it best not to tell Henry that Artie had spent the day poking around in the house of a Russian diplomat in the hopes of finding something incriminating against Frieda.
‘When I got back from Hove, Sid had found two devices. One in the overhead light and one in the telephone.’
‘That’s it!’ Henry stormed out of the room.
Ena ran after him and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To find out who the bloke in the surveillance car is working for.’
‘No, Henry. Don’t confront him. He’s probably armed.’
Henry returned to the sitting room, opened the second drawer of the sideboard and reached into the back. Removing assorted dining table paraphernalia, he took out his gun.
‘Oh no you don’t, Henry! Please don’t take your gun,’ Ena begged.
‘I’m not having anyone following you, frightening you.’ Ena ran into the hall. Arms outstretched, she stood with her back against the door.
Henry put the gun in his jacket pocket, gripped the top of Ena’s arms and lifted her out of the way. Pulling the door open he took the steps to the street two at a time. Ena ran after him. He ran between the front of the Sunbeam and the car next to it. Ena cut round the back of the Sunbeam arriving in the road at the same time as Henry. She put her hands on his chest. ‘Stop! Take the registration number. Give it to MI5. Get someone there to find out who the car belongs to. But please,’ Ena pleaded, ‘don’t challenge the driver.’
Henry ignored her.
‘You said it was good that I hadn’t seen the face of the man who broke into the flat. Well that’s the same for you. If you approach him - if you see his face - you’ll be in danger too.’
While Ena was pleading with Henry, the engine of the green Austin Cambridge roared into life. Ena saw it heading towards them and screamed. Henry pushed her out of the way and as she fell he threw himself on top of her. The Austin raced past, missing them by inches.
They lay in the road, Henry shielding Ena, her arms wrapped around him so tightly they ached.
‘Come on,’ Henry said, getting to his feet and pulling Ena to hers. ‘Are you hurt?’
Ena shook her head. ‘No, not really. My elbows feel sore, and I expect my bottom will be bruised, but I’m fine. You?’
‘I’m all right. Blast!’ He shouted, ‘I didn’t get the car’s damn number.’
‘I’ve got it in the flat. Come on.’
‘I don’t understand you. You’ve had the registration number of that damn car for however long and haven’t taken it to Five. I give up, Ena, I really do.’
When she was ready for work, her hair dressed and her makeup on, Ena picked up her bags. ‘I’ll see you later.’ Henry ignored her. ‘Henry, I am seeing this thing through. At least I shall do as much as I can before I have to go into the HO and give Dick Bentley my findings.’ Henry didn’t reply. ‘You can be bloody exasperating sometimes,’ she said, taking a piece of paper out of her handbag. ‘Here. This is the registration number of the car that’s been following me. Will you take it to Leconfield House, or are you going to sit and wallow in what might have happened all day?’
‘You take the bloody biscuit, Ena. You’re so damned pig-headed.’
‘I don’t have time for this, Henry, nor do you. Take the registration number and get one of your giggling secretaries to check it out with Motor Licensing. I’d put money on it being owned by the Russian Diplomatic Service. I’ll see you after I’ve seen Director Bentley.’
Ena left the flat, tears streaming down her face. Her legs felt weak. Henry was right. She could have been killed outside their home. So could he. A loud sob escaped her throat. She wanted to run back to the flat, tell Henry how much she loved him, thank him for throwing himself on top of her, for pushing her out of the way and saving her life.
She took in a lungful of air and cried out. Henry might have been killed saving her. She opened the door of the Sunbeam, dropped onto the drivers’ seat, and leant her head on the steering wheel. When she had recovered, she looked up at the sitting room window. Henry was looking out. I love you, she mouthed, but he wasn’t looking at her.
Ena turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. She looked up at the window again. Henry had gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Not again,’ Ena said, seeing open filing cabinets, files, folders and sheets of paper strewn all over the floor.
‘It was like this when I got in this morning,’ Artie said. ‘Twice in two days! What the Dickens is going on?’
‘They obviously didn’t have time to search the place when they bugged it.’
‘All that damned work for nothing.’ Artie threw a file onto the table, it slid across the polished surface and fell onto the floor. ‘Argh!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll have to sort this lot out again.’
‘And I have to write a memo on what we’ve got on Frieda Voight to give to Director Bentley at five o’clock this afternoon. Before I start I need to know what Sid remembered about Frieda Voight’s latest alias. Where is he?’
‘I don’t know. I thought he was coming in with you.’
‘No. When I dropped him off last night he said he had things to do before he came to work, but he would be here early because he needed to find a file.’
‘Then why isn’t he here?’ Artie stopped what he was doing. ‘Did he say which file?’
‘No, he said he’d know it when he saw it.’ Ena looked at her watch. ‘He always rings if he knows he’s going to be late.’
‘Shall I telephone the house?’
Loud knocking on the street door interrupted Ena before she could answer.
‘This’ll be him now,’ Artie said, putting down the telephone. ‘Forgotten his keys,’ he sighed, jogging across the room and out into the courtyard. When Artie returned it was not with Sid. ‘Ena? There’s someone here to see you.’
Two men, one in a police uniform, and a policewoman followed Artie into the
office. ‘Mrs Green?’
‘Yes.’ Ena left her seat and met the grim-faced visitors in the middle of the room. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Detective Inspector Powell,’ the older policeman wearing civvies said, offering Ena his hand. She shook it and gave him a brief nod.
‘Sergeant Thompson and WPC Jarvis,’ the inspector added.
‘What’s this about, Inspector?’
‘A man’s body was found in the early hours of this morning beneath Waterloo Bridge. We’d like you to come down to the station to answer a few questions.’
‘Me? What has this unfortunate man got to do with me?’
‘From the identification found in his wallet and from subsequent enquiries, we believe the man is a work colleague of yours, Sidney Parfitt.’
Ena’s heart thumped in her chest. ‘Sid? You must be mistaken, Inspector.’
‘The sooner we can establish Mr Parfitt’s whereabouts last night, the sooner we’ll be able to get his death cleared up.’
‘He was at home last night. I drove him there myself. When I dropped him off he said he’d see me here this morning.’
The sergeant opened the office door and stood beside it. The policewoman walked across the room and stood next to Ena. ‘If you come with us, Mrs Green? I’m sure we’ll get the matter sorted out in no time.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Ena grabbed her coat from the back of her chair and picked up her handbag. ‘Artie, telephone Henry.’ She glanced at the clock on the office wall. ‘He should still be at home. Tell him–’ Ena looked at the inspector. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Bow Street police station.’
‘Tell him to come quickly, will you?’
WPC Jarvis took Ena’s coat out of her hands and held it up. ‘It’s chilly this morning, Mrs Green.’
Near to tears, Ena let herself be led out of the office by the policewoman. She looked back as the door was closing. Artie had already picked up the telephone. He nodded at Ena and she smiled through her tears. The tears were not for herself, but for her colleague and friend, Sid Parfitt.
From Mercer Street to Bow Street police station was a short walk, but there was a black Wolseley waiting outside. WPC Jarvis opened the nearside rear door and Ena slid onto the back seat.
Sergeant Thompson opened the door to interview room one. ‘Take a seat, Mrs Green, Inspector Powell won’t be long.’
Two minutes later DI Powell arrived. WPC Jarvis followed him in. The DI pulled out a chair from beneath the table for himself and one for the constable. The policewoman took a notebook and pen from the top pocket of her uniform, opened the notebook and placed it on the table in front of her. The pen she held in her hand, poised to make notes.
‘Was it an accident, Inspector?’
‘It appears so.’
‘Poor Sid. Did he drown?’
‘We can’t be sure until after the autopsy, but the coroner doesn’t think so.’
‘But if he fell into the Thames?’
‘He didn’t fall into the Thames, he fell onto concrete steps that were once part of a jetty. The tide was out, so his body wasn’t carried downriver. I shall know more when I get the coroner’s report, but it looks as though your friend had one too many and fell to his death.’
‘But Sid didn’t drink,’ Ena said. ‘He had the occasional glass of beer, but beyond that… No, Inspector, he wouldn’t have been drunk.’ Suddenly the file Sid wanted to find came into her mind. She felt the heat of anger rise up her neck to her cheeks. ‘Could Sid’s death have been foul play?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out, Mrs Green.’
Shocked that the inspector could think she had anything to do with her friend’s death, Ena gave him a contemptuous look. ‘What do you mean, that’s what we’re here to find out?’
The inspector put up his hand and Ena stopped speaking. ‘We understand from Mr Parfitt’s mother and sister that you telephoned him last night at around ten fifteen.’
‘What?’
‘And asked him to meet you at the office in Mercer Street.’
‘I did no such thing!’ Alarm bells began to ring in the back of Ena’s mind. She was being set up. ‘I didn’t telephone Sid. I told him he’d done enough for one day, drove him home and said I’d see him this morning at the office. I neither spoke to him nor saw him after that.’
The inspector consulted his notebook. ‘Did Mr Parfitt spend the day with you at number seven St. Michael’s Square?’
‘Yes. Actually no. He was on his own for most of the day. I was in Hove on business. I didn’t get back until mid-afternoon. I was having the glass replaced in my kitchen window and Sid, Mr Parfitt, said he would work from my flat to make sure the work was done. His work is - was - investigatory. He was working his way through a box of files and didn’t need to be in the office.’
The inspector consulted his notebook, again. ‘And you’re sure you didn’t telephone Mr Parfitt at ten fifteen or thereabouts last night?’
‘How many times? No! I did not telephone Sid last night. I had no reason to.’
‘Were you and Mr Parfitt having a relationship?’
‘What? For goodness sake! No, we were not having a relationship, as you call it. Other than a working relationship. I am happily married.’ Ena felt her cheeks colour. She and Henry were happy, weren’t they? They had been until recently. It was only the Frieda Voight case that they argued about. Suddenly a realisation hit her. Apart from Frieda Voight using Ena’s identity to get a job in nuclear research, Sid had remembered something about her, or someone connected to her, that had worried him. Thinking about it, Sid was on edge. He said he was desperate to get to work the next day and go through the files to remind himself what it was. Did he go back to the office? If he did, he’d have crossed the river on Westminster Bridge, not Waterloo.
‘Mrs Green?’
‘What? Sorry, I– No. Sid and I were good friends, work colleagues, as my other colleague in the office and I am. To suggest that Sid and I were having some sort of sordid affair is not only preposterous, but it’s offensive to me and an insult to my late colleague. Besides,’ Ena spat, ‘my husband was at home last night, all night. He will confirm that I neither telephoned anyone nor went out to meet anyone. We were together until I left for work this morning.’
Sergeant Thompson opened the interview room door and poked his head in. ‘Excuse me, sir. Could I have a word?’
DI Powell glared at him. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘No, sir. There’s someone here who you will want to see.’
‘This had better be good,’ the DI barked.
The constable stood up when the DI did. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Green?’
Ena shook her head. ‘I’d like a glass of water.’
The policewoman crossed the room to where a glass jug and half a dozen tumblers stood on the top of a wooden cabinet. She poured Ena a glass of water and took it to her.
No sooner had the policewoman returned to her seat than the inspector burst into the room. ‘You have friends in high places, Mrs Green. You are free to go.’ He banged his notebook on the table as if he was stacking bricks.
Ena leapt out of her chair.
Ignoring her, the inspector looked at WPC Jarvis. ‘Show Mrs Green out of the station, Constable.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
With less than five hours until her meeting with Director Bentley, Ena should have gone back to the office and written a report. Instead she hailed a cab.
‘Embankment, Waterloo Bridge.’
‘No can do, Miss!’ the cab driver said, ‘Waterloo Bridge is closed. Some bloke’s gone and committed harry-carry.’
Ena’s hackles rose. She bit her tongue. ‘Could you get me there via Westminster Bridge?’
‘Not sure, Miss. I can try.’
‘Don’t bother, I’m in a hurry.’ Ena was running out of patience. ‘Drop me off on the corner of the Strand and Lancaster Place, I’ll walk across the bridge.’
The cab driver looked at Ena in the rear-view mirror and jerked his head in annoyance. Not as long a journey as he would have liked, Ena thought, as he spun the cab’s steering wheel to the right at the end of Wellington Street.
‘Stop!’ Ena shouted, as the cab cruised past Lancaster Place and down the Strand. ‘Now!’ she ordered. The cab driver stood on the brake at the corner of Savoy Street, the momentum propelling Ena from the back seat.
Ena slapped a half-crown in the driver’s hand and left the cab giving him a surly look. She walked back to Lancaster Place. Six policemen stood in a line across the road. Two were waving vehicles on down the Strand.
‘Sorry, Miss. There’s not access to Waterloo Station or South London, from here. You’ll have to go to Charing Cross if you want a train, Westminster Bridge for a bus south.’
‘The man who fell from Waterloo Bridge was my associate.’ Ena took her Home Office identification from her handbag and showed it to the officer. His brow furrowed. He clearly hadn’t seen a Home Office ID card before. ‘I have just come from Bow Street police station,’ which was true, ‘if you telephone Detective Inspector Powell, he will confirm I have clearance,’ which was not true. Ena held her breath. If DI Powell thought she had something to do with Sid’s death, which Ena was sure he did, he’d be the last person on earth to help her.
The policeman looked bewildered. ‘I shouldn’t tell you this,’ Ena said, conspiratorially, ‘but the man found dead on the embankment,’ she nodded to the end of the bridge, ‘and I were working on a matter of vital importance to the country. I wish I could tell you more, but our work is classified. Top secret,’ she whispered. ‘I’m bound by the Official Secrets Act, so… I’m sure you understand.’
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