Benny’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You can’t do that, Johnny. You of all people …’
‘I know. I know.’ I shook my head miserably. ‘I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.’
Instinctively we glanced over at the table where Peter was sitting. He was gazing back at us, his brow furrowed with concern. He knew only too well that we were talking about him.
Benny switched on his smile again and gave a little wave. ‘You go to him. Keep the little blighter amused while I fix your grub. We’ll sort something out, eh?’
‘I admire your optimism,’ I said, before wending my way through the tables and joining Peter.
‘I reckon you’re ready for this feast,’ I said, pulling up a chair, affecting a cheery grin. ‘I could hear your tummy rumbling from over there.’
Peter also affected a matching cheery grin. We both knew we were acting, covering up the truth.
Suddenly I felt Peter’s hand on mine. ‘Please don’t make me go back,’ he whispered.
I should not have said it. I had no right to say it. I was mad to say it. But I said it. ‘No, course not.’ And I squeezed his hand in reassurance. The cloud over my head grew darker.
*
Benny did us proud. The food was good and there were extra portions for young Peter. We ate in contented silence, each of us concentrating on the moment and shelving thoughts of the future for another time. Later Benny came to clear the dishes and sat with us.
‘You like a little job, Peter, my boy? I got a lot of dishes piled up in the kitchen; I could do with someone to give me a hand washing them up. How are you fixed? I pay good rates.’
Peter’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘You mean me?’
Benny looked around mysteriously as though searching for another candidate for the job before returning his gaze to Peter. ‘Guess I do.’
‘What do you say, Johnny?’
I nodded. ‘It’s OK with me.’
Without further debate, Benny took a joyful Peter off to the back room and set him on washing the dishes and then returned to the table.
‘Thanks, Benny.’
‘It’ll keep him out of mischief. I’m happy to take him off your hands for the day if it’ll give you a chance to sort things out.’
‘I can’t guarantee that, but I’ll try. And I have a living to earn into the bargain.’
‘Life is never easy, my friend.’
‘Certainly isn’t. It’s bad enough when you have only yourself to think about.’
‘How is business anyway?’
I was in no mood to start discussing the Riley case and its attendant complications so I responded with a non-committal shrug.
‘You should have been in the café yesterday,’ said Benny, his face suddenly becoming animated. ‘I could have got you a case. There was a young couple in, sitting at that table over there. She was in such a state: sad face, black eye. It needed no detective to work out the fellow with her had been beating her up. She needed help, Johnny.’
‘I’m a private investigator, Benny, not a wet nurse.’
Benny gave an exclamation of disgust.
I rose to leave. ‘Thanks again for looking after Peter,’ I said, happy to change the conversation.
Benny lifted a finger of warning. ‘Be back here by closing time, eh?’
I nodded, planted my battered trilby firmly on my head and made my way out into the cool London street.
By the time I’d got back to my office, I had made one decision at least. I rang Charing Cross Hospital and asked to speak to Sister McAndrew. I was told that she was doing her ward round, so I said the matter was very urgent and left my number. Half an hour later she rang me back. By then I had rehearsed what I was going to say. I just hoped that I could make it sound believable.
‘Hello Johnny, you have news.’ She sounded breathless. Whether this was due to the rigours of hospital duties or her anticipation of news of Peter, I couldn’t tell.
‘Sort of.’
‘Sort of? What do you mean?’ Her tone was sharp and cool.
‘I’ve heard from Peter. I got a call.’
‘He rang you? Where is he?’
‘I … I don’t know. He just called to tell me that he was fine and I was not to worry. And Mr and Mrs Booth had no need to worry.’
‘How can he be fine? He has no clothes, probably no money and nowhere to live. Was he ringing you from London?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know!’ The dam burst now and her anger cascaded unhindered. ‘My God, man, you are supposed to be a detective. Couldn’t you get any information out of him? What’s he doing for food? What are his plans? Is he heading for London?’
I suppose I should have expected this rapid interrogation and been ready with realistic responses but I wasn’t. In the process of trotting out my hastily conceived untruths, I had suddenly realized how shaky and feeble they were. I attempted to retaliate.
‘Look, Susan, I didn’t want to scare him off with too many questions. I needed to make him feel he can trust me, so he’ll ring again. And then maybe come to see me. It’s softly, softly catchee the young monkey. If I’d come down heavily with a barrage of questions, he would probably have hung up on me.’
That sounded good, I thought. There was a brief silence as she considered my argument and then she replied. Her voice was softer, conciliatory.
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry I snapped at you.’
‘Don’t worry. In my job I’m used to it. Look, Peter assured me that he was fine. He sounded fine. I am certain he can look after himself. He’s done it before. We just need to wait for the next call. We must be patient. In the meantime, have a word with your sister and put her mind at rest.’
‘I’ll try, but she blames herself for Peter running away. A phone call saying that he’s all right will hardly ease her conscience.’
I couldn’t argue with that.
‘Well, do what you can. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Make sure you are. Bye, Johnny.’
The line went dead and I felt a sharp pang of conscience for deceiving her, but, I assured myself, it was necessary to buy a little time. Time was a small bonus, but it certainly didn’t solve the Peter problem.
I lit a cigarette and tried to turn my mind to business matters. In particular, the Riley case. The deep mire that was the Riley case. Where did one start with this unpleasantly hot potato? After a few minutes of contemplation, the answer became obvious to me.
FIFTEEN
It was mid-morning by the time I reached Whitehall. Although in the heart of London, it was a quiet thoroughfare. I made my way to the War Office. It is a squat, ugly building with four improbable turrets, like a reject fairy-tale castle. I made my way up the broad sweep of steps and entered. I didn’t get far. Passing through a pair of great double doors, I found myself in a high-ceilinged entrance hall with two sets of a large marble staircases leading up to the second floor. There were numerous armed soldiers on guard.
I was stopped at the desk in the entrance and asked for my documents. They were scrutinized thoroughly and returned to me by an authoritative looking plump fellow wearing Arthur Askey glasses.
‘Now, Mr Hawke, what can I do for you?’
‘I am here to see Captain Michael Eddowes. He works on the third floor.’
My plump friend grinned sarcastically. ‘Do you have a security pass?’
I shook my head.
The eyes narrowed behind the round glasses and the grin broadened even more sarcastically. ‘This is the War Office, Mr Hawke. And if it has passed your notice, there is a war on. Do you think we let any Tom, Dick or Herman wander around these premises?’
‘You’ve seen my identification documents.’
‘But not your security pass.’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘And so you get no further than my desk. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Then would you contact Captain Michael Eddowes and inform
him that I am here?’
‘This is not a telephone exchange, Mr Hawke. Unless you have an appointment and a security pass, the answer is no. Now I suggest that you leave the premises or I shall be forced to ask those two strapping guards over there to escort you from the building.’
I gave a little cry of surprise and nodded my head vigorously. ‘An appointment! Of course, how silly of me not to have mentioned an appointment. Yes, indeed, old Mike is expecting me. It’s very important business.’
The gatekeeper did not seem fully convinced by my effusive outburst, but I could see by his rapid eye movement that I had sown the seeds of doubt in his mind.
‘What was the name again?’
‘Captain Michael Eddowes. If you’ll just remind him that it’s the matter concerning the Riley conundrum.’
With grumpy reluctance, my plump friend consulted a log book and then dialled a number on the internal telephone. It didn’t take long for it to be answered. ‘Captain Eddowes? This is Sergeant Broughton on reception. I have a John Hawke here who says he’s got an appointment with you … concerning the Riley conundrum.’ As he said this he gave me a fierce glance. I responded with a broad, sweet smile.
After a moment Sergeant Broughton replaced the receiver. He did not seem best pleased. He gave an embarrassed cough before addressing me in a far more civil manner.
‘Captain Eddowes will be down to see you shortly, Mr Hawke. If you don’t mind waiting. Just take a seat over there.’
What a miraculous volte-face. It was Mr Hawke now and if I didn’t mind waiting instead of being booted out of the building in the manner of a drunk who had stayed too long after closing time. I was gracious in victory. I just nodded casually and said, ‘Thanks.’ I took a seat as directed and waited.
A few moments later a tall figure in an elegant blue mohair overcoat flapping around him entered the building and swept by me as he made his way to the desk. He was a youngish man, with a sallow face and chiselled features. His dark hair swept back in a severe style glistened under the artificial lights.
‘Good day, Sergeant Broughton,’ he said cheerily, his voice rich with public school resonances.
At his appearance Broughton shot to his feet and stood to attention, his features colouring pink.
‘Good day, Sir Robert,’ he responded with some awe.
Without further intercourse, Sir Robert carried on his way up one of the staircases, taking three or four steps at a time.
When he had disappeared, Broughton relaxed and then turned to me, ‘That was Sir Robert Gervais,’ he announced in hushed and reverent tones. ‘He’s one of the most important persons who works here.’
Well, I thought, whatever else he does for the war effort, he certainly keeps you on your toes.
Captain Michael Eddowes was a tall, lithe man with prematurely grey hair and a youthful face, housing two lively blue eyes. We shook hands and he leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘My sister told me to expect you. We’ll go up to my office for a private chat.’
He moved over to the entrance desk. ‘Broughton, can you give this chap a temporary security pass. He’s my guest.’
In silent tight-lipped obedience Broughton did as he was asked. As he handed me the pass, I gave him a mock salute and winked.
Captain Eddowes led me up the two flights of stairs to the third floor of the War Office where there was another security check before I was allowed into the warren of corridors and offices to be found there.
Eventually I was ushered into room 443, Eddowes’ tiny office which housed a desk, a filing cabinet, two chairs and little else. There was no window.
‘Grab a pew and I’ll see if I can rustle up some tea,’ said Eddowes languidly and made the request via an intercom.
‘My sister told me to expect you and confirmed that you are a bona-fide private detective. I also note that you were a policeman before the war and were invalided out of the army after losing the sight in you left eye.’
The fellow had done his homework. I nodded with a grim smile.
‘One can’t be too careful, Mr Hawke. We can’t let any Tom, Dick or Herman wander around these premises, you know.’
It was the exact same phrase my old friend Broughton, the gatekeeper, had used. It must be the War Office mantra.
There was a discreet knock at the door and a uniformed sergeant entered with a tea tray and placed it on Eddowes’ desk.
‘Thank you, Chapman. That will be all.’
Without a word the soldier departed.
‘Now then, Mr Hawke, how can I help you?’ Eddowes asked, as he passed me a mug of tea.
‘Tell me about Walter Riley. What job did he do here? Did he have any friends? Any enemies?’
‘Do you really believe that he was murdered on purpose rather than being the unlucky victim of a somewhat nasty robbery?’
I nodded. ‘Yes. Evidence is growing to indicate just that.’
‘Really. What would be the motive?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to establish.’
‘I see. Well, you probably know I was instrumental in getting Walter a job here as a favour to Sandra. His work wasn’t very demanding but it required reliability and loyalty.’
‘What did he do?’
Eddowes took a sip of tea and then stretched back in his chair. ‘Here at the War Office we employ hundreds of individuals, all slaving away like little hamsters in their own individual cages, oblivious of what is going on in the next cage. That’s the way we like it. It helps to strengthen our security. Most of the stuff is mundane and repetitive but nevertheless vital to the war effort. I can’t really go into details about any of the tasks or individuals – even my own brother-in-law. All I can tell you is that Walter was mainly involved in dealing with army pay of members of the Royal Household Staff and the overseas requirements of a number of Fleet Street war correspondents. Not exciting work, but essential.’
‘Nothing very hush hush then.’
‘Good God, no. We keep all that stuff for the top brass.’
‘Like yourself?’
He grinned. ‘I am a mere captain, a very small cog in this vast machine, Mr Hawke. Certainly I am higher up the pecking order than Walter was, but I can assure you I am privy to none of the really important operations decided here.’
‘If you wanted to find out things could you? Could Walter?’
Eddowes thought for a moment, absent-mindedly tugging at his chin. ‘If I were totally unscrupulous, I suppose it’s possible. But only because I was known within the building. A stranger wouldn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance. You, for instance – put one foot wrong, enter an area you were not supposed to and you’d soon find yourself down in the guard room with a rifle aimed at your heart.’
‘And Walter?’
‘Surely you’re not suggesting—?’
‘I’m just trying to establish some facts that’s all.’
Eddowes performed the chin-tugging ceremony again. I could tell that he didn’t like the kind of questions I was asking.
‘I suppose if Walter had the determination he might have been able to sniff out some secret info but it just wasn’t in his nature. He was fully screened before he put a foot over the threshold. Nothing is absolutely secure in wartime – but we’re as near watertight here as we can be.’
‘Did you know about Walter’s penchant for dressing-up—?’
Eddowes gave me a sour face. ‘I did not. If I had, he’d have been out of here in a flash.’
‘Not that watertight then,’ I mused.
‘As to friends or enemies …’ he continued, ignoring my little trenchant observation, ‘I can’t say for certain. Although we worked in the same building, he was on the second floor and I rarely saw him. From all accounts he seems to have been rather a solitary character. Keeping himself to himself. And with his particular predilections, I am not surprised. But, to be fair, that’s the way of the job. We do not encourage fraternization.’
I was getting a little frustrated at
the circumspect nature of this conversation and I realized that I would have to place a number of my cards on the table in order to scrape some advantages from the visit.
‘If Walter was not killed in a robbery, then he was killed because he was a problem to someone. I’d like to find out what that problem was.’
‘I’ve really no idea what you mean.’
‘Maybe he knew something he shouldn’t and so he had to be silenced.’
‘That’s rather melodramatic isn’t it? What could he know?’
‘Some kind of secret.’
Eddowes frowned and leaned forward over his desk. ‘Such as? You surely don’t mean some War Office secrets? Why that’s preposterous,’ he exclaimed, but his expression somehow denied the sense of his words.
‘Preposterous, but not impossible, eh?’
‘Well, no, I suppose not. But that would mean that Walter was a traitor. I can’t accept that, I’m afraid. He was obviously a strange bod, stranger than I could have imagined, all that unpleasant dressing up bit, very distasteful, but he wasn’t the sort to sell his own country down the river.’
‘And so you have no notion why anyone would want to kill Walter Riley.’
‘I’m afraid not.’
With these words Captain Eddowes rose from his chair to indicate that the interview was over. ‘I’m sorry that I can’t help you any further, but in all honesty I think you are barking up the wrong tree if you believe he was murdered because he knew something he shouldn’t.’
‘Thank you for your time.’
He flashed his standard smile, bland and indecipherable. ‘I’ll show you out.’
‘That’s OK. I’ll find my own way.’
‘Not without me, you won’t,’ Eddowes asserted, leading me to the door. ‘You’d soon be cornered, or, worse still, shot down, if you, as a visitor, tried to move around this building unaccompanied.’
He led me into the corridor and back towards the staircase. As we passed the last office in the line, the door opened and a man with large horn-rimmed glasses popped his head around the door. ‘Ah, Michael, the very man. Sir Robert wants to bring the three o’clock meeting forward an hour. He’s got some function on this evening and he needs to get back to his flat. Can you do two o’clock in the Red Room?’
Without Conscience Page 10