‘Right you are. Sorry. No need for that sort of information. Quite unnecessary,’ he said, reprimanding himself. ‘Interesting though,’ he offered, leaving the office.
Inspector Powell took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the glassine covering. It was clean. At least the pathologist had been sensitive enough to wipe the blood off it. He handed it to Ena.
She looked closely at the transparent cover. It looked like a miniature envelope. Turning it over in her hand, Ena found the flap and gently lifted it. The glassine separated to reveal a square of paper no bigger than a postage stamp.
‘But there’s nothing on it,’ the inspector said.
‘Nothing written on it, no.’ Ena looked around the pathologist’s office. Her eyes settled on his desk and a magnifying glass propped up in a pipe-rack. ‘Pass me the magnifying glass will you, Inspector?’
The inspector’s eyes followed Ena’s. He took the magnifier from between the row of pipes and passed it to her. ‘Have you found something?’
‘Maybe.’ She laid the piece of paper on the desk and, leaning over it, saw what she had hoped to see.
‘She stepped back to let the inspector look. ‘Pinpricks?’
‘Look closer.’
‘C O L L I N S.’ The inspector laughed. ‘Pinpricks. Minute perforations that you can hardly see that spell Collins. Do you know anyone by the name of, Collins?’
‘No,’ Ena said, ‘I don’t.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the black Wolseley going back to Bow Street, DI Powell told Sergeant Thompson to drive on to Mercer Street. ‘We’ll drop you off at your office,’ he said, smiling at Ena sympathetically.
‘That’ll be a help. I have a meeting this afternoon and I need to pick up some papers before I go to it.’
‘What did you say you did there?’
‘Administrative work. We check files, make sure names and dates are correct.’
‘Government files?’
‘Some are, yes.’
‘For the Home Office?’
Ena felt her cheeks redden. ‘We’re connected to the Home Office, yes.’
‘I see.’
Did the inspector see? Ena hoped not. She looked sideways at him. He smiled. She smiled back.
They sat in silence for a while, and then the inspector said, ‘And you don’t have any idea who this Collins character is?’
‘No.’
When the police car pulled up outside the office in Mercer Street, DI Powell said, ‘You’ve had a shock. Will you be all right? If you’d like me to come in with you?’
‘No! I’ll be fine. My other assistant, Artie, will be there. I would like to break the news of Sid’s death to him on my own.’
DI Powell walked her to the door. ‘I want you to know you can trust me, Mrs Green.’
Ena looked into his eyes. ‘Thank you.’ She held his gaze. By doing so she hoped he would know that she trusted him. Unlocking the door, she said, ‘When I find out who Collins is, I’ll let you know.’
‘Ena?’ Henry strode across the room to meet her.
‘Are you all right?’ Artie asked, near to tears. ‘Was it Sid’s body they found?’
‘I’m sorry, Artie, I’m afraid it was.’
Artie slumped into his chair.
‘Where have you been for the last four hours?’ Henry asked. ‘I went to Bow Street police station. They told me you’d left. What’s going on? Where have you been until now?’
‘You went to Bow Street and I’d already left? Wasn’t it you who got me released?’
‘It was Director Bentley,’ Artie said.
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, Ena, but the first time I phoned Henry at home there was no reply. I panicked and phoned Director Bentley.’
‘Oh hell,’ Ena said. ‘God knows what Dick Bentley will say when I see him, but thank you, Artie, if you hadn’t telephoned him I’d probably be locked up by now. At first, the inspector thought I was involved in Sid’s death.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Damn! It’s half past four, I’m seeing Bentley at five. I’d better get a move on,’ she said, gathering papers and files.
‘I’ll run you down to Whitehall,’ Henry said, ‘you’re in no fit state to drive yourself.’
‘Okay, thanks, I do feel a bit shaky.’
‘Have you eaten anything since leaving the flat this morning?’
Ena looked at her husband and pulled a face. Except for the breakfast she had almost brought up in the morgue, she hadn’t even thought about food. Her thoughts were only about Sid lying on the sterile mortuary table with his head… ‘I don’t think I could eat anything.’
‘We’ll pick something up on the way.’
Ena grimaced. ‘I’ll be back in an hour, Artie. Will you be all right on your own?’ Artie sighed. ‘Why don’t you go out for a walk? I don’t suppose you’ve had any lunch.’ Artie shook his head. ‘I didn’t think so. Go and get something to eat. You’ll feel better with something inside you.’ Ena put her arms around her colleague. ‘And don’t forget to lock up.’
‘So, what’s this about, Ena?’ Henry asked, when she had thrown her handbag and shoulder bag into the back of the Sunbeam, settled down in the passenger seat and closed the door.
‘I’ll tell you everything at home tonight, I promise. But I need this ten minutes in the car to collect my thoughts and decide what I’m going to say to Director Bentley.’ Ena leaned back and closed her eyes.
Arriving at the Home Office, Henry said, ‘I’ll park round the back and leave the keys for you at the front desk. Will you be all right to drive yourself home?’
‘Of course. Where are you going? I thought you were taking the day off.’
‘I was, but I telephoned Leconfield House from your office and they want me in this afternoon.’
‘What for?’
‘Didn’t say. It’ll be something and nothing I expect.’ Henry grabbed Ena’s bags from the back seat and leapt out of the car. ‘See you tonight,’ he said, handing them to her.
Ena kissed him. ‘I love you.’
Henry looked into Ena’s eyes. ‘I love you too.’ She began to leave, but Henry pulled her to him. ‘Promise me that, if you feel unwell after the meeting with Dick Bentley, you’ll leave the car here and get a cab home?’
‘Promise,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘I mean it,’ Henry shouted. ‘And be careful.’
‘I will!’ Ena blew him a kiss and ran along King Charles Street to the Home Office.
Waiting in the small reception area outside Director Bentley’s office gave Ena time to think. She needed to relate the key facts of the investigation into Frieda Voight, including her most recent alias, Ena Dudley, as well as tell him about Sid’s death. Dick Bentley didn’t go in for small talk, so she needed to get to the point and be specific. But how? There was so much to tell him. And not only that, much of what she wanted to say needed explaining. She inhaled and exhaled slowly a number of times while she watched the black second hand on the clock above his secretary’s desk tick around the clock’s white face. Finally, it got to the twelve and juddered. It was five o’clock.
‘Director Bentley will see you now.’
Ena jumped. ‘What?’ She had been miles away. Fear of what the director would say about her being taken to the police station, and him having to get her out, had dried up every drop of saliva in her mouth. She licked her lips and pushed on the already open door.
The director looked up as she entered. He motioned to the chair in front of his desk, and Ena sat down. Taking the files she had brought with her from her satchel she placed them on the desk. Then her mind went blank.
‘Are you all right, Ena?’
‘Not really, sir,’ Ena said. ‘Quite honestly, so much has happened in the last forty-eight hours it’s difficult to know where to start.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘First of all, thank you for getting me out of Bow Street police station.’ Bentley gave a sharp nod. ‘I believe Artie
Mallory told you that a man’s body had been found under Waterloo Bridge and that the police, finding his wallet, identified the man as our colleague, Sid Parfitt.’
‘Yes, Mallory told me. What I don’t know is why you were taken to Bow Street.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, I wasn’t sure how much Artie had told you. I’ll get to the point.’ Bentley nodded. ‘I was taken to Bow Street because Sid’s mother told Detective Inspector Powell that Sid had received a telephone call from Ena Green at ten o’clock last night and he left the house soon afterwards. Naturally, she assumed it was me, so the police came to the office and took me in for questioning.’
‘But you didn’t telephone Parfitt?’
‘No, sir. I didn’t telephone anyone last night. And I didn’t go out. As I told the police, I didn’t leave the flat until this morning to go to work.’ Ena felt dizzy. Her stomach was empty. She wished now she’d let Henry buy her a sandwich. ‘I think Frieda Voight used my name to lure Sid out of his house.’
‘You think this, because…’
‘Because when I went to the hospital the ward sister told me McKenzie Robinson’s daughter had visited him, she told me the daughter’s name was Ena Dudley. She said she had seen Mac’s daughter’s driving licence. Anyway, when I got home I told Sid and he said he remembered seeing the same name on a list of employees at a nuclear research facility.’
‘Home? Was Sid Parfitt at your house?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ena felt her cheeks flush. It was hot in Bentley’s office. ‘The truth is–’
‘That would be good.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but today has been horrendous. I was trying to itemise the most important events of the last forty-eight hours, but it’s too complicated. I’ll start at the beginning.’ Director Bentley nodded again. ‘Someone broke into my flat. I must have scared him off when I arrived home because he escaped out of the kitchen window. It swung back and a pane of glass got broken. Sid was working on some low priority files and offered to work from my flat and oversee the repair of my window so I could go down to Hove.’
‘Was anything stolen in the burglary?’
‘No, sir. I assumed I had come home before the burglar had time to take anything, but Sid thought it was suspicious. And it was. While I was in Hove, he checked for listening devices and found two.
‘I am also being watched, followed. I was almost run down by a surveillance car and now, Sid.’ Ena did her best to stave off her tears. She took her handkerchief from her handbag and blew her nose. ‘May I?’ she said, pointing to a jug of water and several glasses.
‘Of course.’ Director Bentley stood up and poured them each a glass of water. ‘Take your time.’
When Ena had quenched her thirst, she continued. ‘When I told Sid my name was Ena Dudley before I was married and that I’d been an engineer, he said he had seen the same name and job title in one of the cold case files. He was adamant that it was a file connected to Frieda Voight. He wanted to go to the office and look for it. I said no, he had done enough for one day and took him home. I told him I’d see him in the morning.’ Ena shook her head. ‘But this morning…’ She blurted out: ‘He didn’t fall from Waterloo Bridge, sir. Nor did he commit suicide. Sid was murdered. He was killed for a piece of paper with the name Collins on it.’
‘Good Lord, Ena, how do you know this?’
‘Sid’s shoes were not with his body. It’s an old spy tactic, as you are well aware. My sister Claire and her husband worked with the French resistance in the war. When they acted as couriers they hid money or information in their shoes. They walked on it. Sometimes information was hidden in the heels, in hollow compartments, but there was nothing in Sid’s shoes. I thought because his shoes had nothing in them that whoever had killed him had found what he was hiding. But I was wrong. Detective Inspector Powell at Bow Street took me to the mortuary at St. Thomas’s for me to see if anything had been hidden in the lining of Sid’s clothes. It was while we were there that the pathologist found this trapped between Sid’s teeth and his cheek.’ Ena passed the square of paper to the director.
He placed it on his black diary, lowered his head until his eyes were level with it and squinted. ‘Collins?’ He lifted his head. ‘Do you know who Collins is?’
‘No, sir.’
The director got up and paced the room. When he sat down again, he said, ‘Parfitt thought there was something in one of the files that was important to the Voight investigation, you said?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then you’d better stay with it. Go through the files Parfitt would have gone through if he hadn’t been killed, and find this bloody chap Collins.’
‘I will, sir.’
Director Bentley walked round his desk and put out his hand. ‘Good work, Ena.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I needn’t tell you how important it is that this business with Sid Parfitt is kept in-house.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good. Who else knows about Collins?’
Ena began to panic. She didn’t want to lie to the director, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. ‘Inspector Powell took me to the mortuary, but it was the pathologist who found the piece of paper in Sid’s mouth. I’m sure neither man knew the name Collins was stencilled on it.’
Director Bentley held Ena’s gaze, as if he was looking for signs of doubt. ‘Good,’ he said at last, ‘keep it that way. Any information comes straight to me, understood?’
‘Understood.’
Ena left Director Bentley’s office shaking. She felt guilty that she had lied to him when he had been so understanding. It was true that the pathologist hadn’t seen the name Collins, but the inspector had. She needed to see him; ask him not to tell anyone. She blew out her cheeks. How the hell do you tell a Detective Inspector in charge of a murder enquiry not to do his job?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ena and Artie spent the following week trawling through the boxes of cold case files that Sid had classified as urgent, important and unimportant. They even looked through closed and dead files. They found nothing. No mention of Frieda Voight, any of her aliases, or anyone called Collins.
Ena brought the last dozen boxes from the store room, giving Artie six and putting six on the cupboard at her end of the conference table. ‘Wipe that frown off you face, Artie. It’s boring, but it has to be done.’
‘I know,’ he sighed, ‘and I don’t mind really. Not if we find something that will help us catch the bastard that killed Sid.’ Artie reached out and pulled a box nearer and cut through the brown tape that held it closed. ‘Catch,’ he said, giving the scissors a gentle shove that sent them spinning effortlessly to Ena at the other end of the table. ‘What time is it?’ he asked, taking out a file, dropping it on the table and laying his head on it.
Ena looked at her watch. ‘Gone six; time we had a break.’
‘Wake me when I can go home,’ he mumbled.
‘You look as if you’ve had enough. I know I have. My eyes are seeing words that aren’t there,’ Ena said, yawning.
‘Sod’s law what we’re looking for is in this box,’ Artie said, lifting his head. ‘Let’s have a wager. A quid says Collins is hiding in this box.’
‘Do you want to go on, then?’
‘Yes. No. I ought to for Sid, but I need sustenance.’
Ena hauled herself out of her chair. ‘Let’s go to the pub. I’ll buy you a pint and a sandwich.’
‘What about Mr Collins?’
‘He isn’t invited,’ Ena said, in an attempt to lighten Artie’s mood. It didn’t work. ‘If Collins is in this lot,’ she said, bringing her hand down on top of the box she had been about to open, ‘he will still be here in the morning.’
Artie put the file back in its box and taped it up. Pretending to drag himself to his feet, he gave Ena a cheeky grin. ‘I’m a bit short of the old readies. I’ll be your slave forever if you buy me a pint.’
Ena laughed. ‘I’ll buy you two if you get a move on.’ It
was the first time she and Artie had shared a joke since Sid’s death.
Ena was working, had been for a couple of hours, when Artie arrived the following morning. She had returned the files she had gone through to their correct boxes, writing checked in black ink on them and had stacked them on top of the cupboard that ran along the wall. At the far end of the table were the remaining dozen files, their empty boxes under the table.
‘Good morning,’ Ena called as Artie passed her heading for the kitchen and the kettle.
‘Not so loud, Ena, please.’ He scowled. ‘There are several wee workmen with hammers and drills in my head.’
‘Can’t take it, eh?’
Artie turned and gave her an exaggerated frown. ‘Do you ply all your young gentlemen friends with alcohol?’
Ena laughed. ‘You didn’t have to stay on, you could have left when I did.’
‘I felt obliged,’ he called from the kitchenette. ‘One of the chaps was a friends of Sid’s. Coffee?’
‘I’d love one.’
‘Where are we up to with this lot?’ Artie asked, bringing in Ena’s coffee and setting it down on the table in front of her.
‘The boxes behind you contain the files where the person investigated is either dead or was found not guilty. Those we’ve already been through can go back into storage. The files Sid had marked as less important, I went through this morning but found nothing. These,’ Ena pointed to the files on the table, ‘I haven’t looked at yet. If we get a wriggle on we should get through them by the end of today.’
Artie took a file from the top of the pile and sighed. ‘I suppose the sooner we get it done, the sooner we’ll know who Collins is.’
‘And when we do, we will know who killed Sid,’ Ena said.
Stimulated by endless cups of coffee, Ena and Artie worked through the morning. Because of Artie’s hangover the wireless wasn’t blaring out. Only the sound of paper being shuffled, the occasional tut, and the thud of empty boxes as they were thrown under the table could be heard. By lunchtime the pile hadn’t reduced as much as their hard work deserved. Artie stood up and stretched.
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