by Kate Parker
“And the other story? About Churchill’s cigars?”
I sighed. “I have to report in to General Alford. I have information that appears to point to a certain fashion house, but not a particular person. And I have no way of proving it.”
Sir Henry leaned forward in his massive desk chair. “You have information linking an attack on Churchill to a building where two murders have recently occurred. I’d say that’s newsworthy.”
“It’s hearsay. It’s an indicator for further investigation. By the army or Scotland Yard,” I added. With Reina’s death, so cruel and unfair, I wanted to quit this investigation. I’d pushed her into revealing the details of a dead man’s life, and it may well have led to her murder.
“Most hearsay has evidence to back it up, if you look hard enough.” Sir Henry was staring at me.
“I don’t know if I want to. I had Reina looking into things she didn’t want to see. Then when she called me, I wasn’t there. She might still be alive if I hadn’t gone to Kent.”
“Chartwell,” Sir Henry said, nodding to himself. “So you’re going to allow this killer to get away with murdering someone who was helping you.”
I made a grinding shriek through my clenched teeth. “The whole thing’s not fair, but I guess I have to keep going.” Sir Henry was right. I had to keep going on this investigation. “Let me report in to General Alford with what I learned in Kent and then I’ll see what I can think of to find this killer.”
“Good girl,” Sir Henry said. “The committee will be interested in this development. There’s a meeting Wednesday night on a different matter, but this needs to be brought up.”
“If our guess was right, and someone on the committee is related to Elias’s late wife, why would they kill Reina?”
“She knew them,” Sir Henry said.
“But she knew nothing about this woman. She knew Elias’s family.” I looked up at Sir Henry as something occurred to me. “Perhaps someone in his family, not hers, is in London, and that is the person Elias recognized at the meeting according to Valerie Mandel. Reina came from his hometown. She would recognize them, too.”
“But where would Reina have met someone on the committee?” Sir Henry asked.
I started thinking aloud. “In the synagogue. Walking along a street. It could have happened by accident in any one of a dozen ways. And Reina wouldn’t have thought there was any danger. We were looking for a relative of his late wife’s. She’d known his family all her life.”
“And this member of Elias’s family is someone both victims would never have feared turning their back on,” Sir Henry said, finishing my thought.
I went to the War Office and gave my report to General Alford, telling him who told me what, and where I believed that led to the next step in the investigation.
As I returned to the Daily Premier, a thought struck me with such force I stopped on the pavement and was bumped into by three different people.
Murmuring apologies, I hurried on.
Why? Why would anyone in Meirsohn’s family want to kill him or Reina? What difference would it make if someone recognized him or her?
With that thought racing around in my mind, I went back to writing up reports on which notable people spent the weekend at the country estate of which noble title. The newspaper wouldn’t include the interesting details on how well romances were proceeding toward engagements or how discreetly affairs were being conducted. Still, there were people who would read our stories and guess where these domestic dramas were headed.
I didn’t care who was doing what. I was fed up with the stories we printed, the people we wrote about, the craziness in Mimi’s salon. I couldn’t wait for the end of the day.
As soon as I was off the clock, I telephoned Leah Nauheim. “How did the fitting go?” I asked after we’d spent moments on pleasantries.
“The suit is going to look terrific. They were behind today because the head seamstress died over the weekend.”
“Actually, she was murdered in the basement.”
A German exclamation came loudly across the telephone wire.
“Did you by any chance see anyone named Fleur? She’s about forty and blond.”
“That wasn’t who was murdered?” Her shock sounded in her tone.
“No,” I assured her. “A friend of hers.”
“No. I don’t think I saw her. Is it important?”
“Probably not.”
“I think my father-in-law and Mr. Mandel are working on Sir Henry in the hopes that he’ll send you to Prague on a mission to help the Jewish community there,” Leah said.
“Thanks for the warning,” I told her.
“Would you mind?” she asked, doubt in her voice. “Now that the Sudeten has been occupied, it won’t be long before they march into the rest of Czechoslovakia like they did Austria.”
“I don’t mind helping. I would like to get in and get out again before they march.” We all knew who “they” were. But Sir Henry had made it clear he wanted me to stay in London and investigate. “That is, if I go. I don’t think Sir Henry wants to send me anywhere right now, with two people killed practically under my nose.”
“It almost sounds as if you’d be safer in Prague,” Leah said, and I could hear her amazement down the telephone line.
“Will you be at the meeting on Wednesday night?” I asked.
“Yes. Will I see you there?”
“In light of this second murder, yes.” Not that I thought my presence would do any good. I was an outsider. Esther stood a much better chance at learning any secrets the members of the committee held.
After I returned home and ate a sandwich with my tea for dinner, I called Esther and came right to the point. “I want to pick your brain.”
“Anything I can do to help.” She sounded eager.
“I’m lost. Your father and I have been playing with the idea that the murderer could be a member of Elias’s family. Well, the Meirsohn family, really. Neither Elias nor Reina would have any reason to fear someone they’ve known all their lives.”
“Reina is the seamstress who was found dead this morning?”
“And who grew up a friend of Elias. He was her childhood playmate,” I told her.
“You don’t expect people you’ve known all your life to be murderers,” Esther said.
“What would make a member of Elias’s family kill him? So far, we haven’t met anyone named Meirsohn in this business. Could they fear exposure for living here under an assumed name?”
“Reputation might matter in a small village, but this is London,” Esther said. “I’m sure his family got over Elias being a communist and a rabble-rouser long ago. Unless they’re acting at the behest of the Nazis, for either money or protection, I can’t imagine why anyone would hide their identity.”
“For people living in a small German Jewish enclave, what kind of a sin would make someone leave their home, change their name, and then years later, kill to hide their secret?”
“Only two I can think of,” Esther told me. “Murder and conversion.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“None of the people in the resettlement committee have converted, have they?”
“No.”
“Then you’re telling me, if the killer is a Meirsohn, they’ve killed before. In Germany.” If that were true, we were up against someone very frightening.
“Do you know the name of this village?”
“No. No one’s ever said.” A mistake on our part. Then I realized I might have the key to this riddle. “Reina had a cousin in Paris. I need to find out if Reina received any letters from her while she was here. If I had the cousin’s address, I could talk to her.”
“And find out the name of the village and whether there were any murders where the Meirsohns were suspected,” Esther finished for me.
“Perhaps we can rule out some of the committee on Wednesday night,” I suggested.
“I’ll be there,” she said cheerfully before she rang off.
I
thought that was my last call for the evening until my telephone rang about a half hour later. An unidentified male voice said, “General Alford wants you to meet him at the War Office tomorrow at six in the evening.”
Before I could object, the line went dead.
* * *
I arrived at work the next morning dressed to visit the fashion salon in a belted, forest-green suit with a belt-banded, brown fedora-like hat with an over-wide brim and brown low-heeled pumps. Miss Westcott took one look at my outfit, raised her eyebrows, shook her head, and looked back at the copy she was correcting.
Walking over to her desk, I could see the copy was bleeding profusely from her red pencil, and for once it wasn’t my copy. Cheered by that thought, I said, “I need to go back to Mimi’s salon.”
“Be sure you get results for Sir Henry,” she replied in a dry tone without looking up.
I decided that was permission enough and left.
As soon as I arrived at Mimi’s salon, the English girl on the front desk picked up the phone and whispered into the receiver. I suspected I would be booted out immediately.
Instead, Mimi came out and took me into the back room. As soon as she shut the door, she said, “I wish you’d leave us alone. Your interference killed Reina and I’d rather not lose any other staff members.”
“I’d like to see her belongings. I’m hoping they’ll give me a clue as to why she needed to see me so urgently.”
“So you can have the police traipsing through my salon again? We lost another day of work yesterday. Will this happen again today? Or tomorrow?”
I stood there and stared at her.
“Fine. Come along.” We started climbing the back stairs. “The police went through them yesterday, but they left everything here. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with them. If this were Paris…”
If this were Paris, I thought bitterly, Reina would still be alive and so, probably, would Elias.
“I brought another attempt at the drawing for the advertisement,” I told her.
Mimi waved a hand in dismissal at the drawing I pulled out of my bag. “I’ve decided against running anything in the newspapers.”
I wasn’t surprised, but being so easily dismissed hurt.
She led me past the dressing rooms and the sewing rooms above them to a room on the next floor facing the back. Light-colored curtains matched the spread on the iron-framed single bed. The only other pieces of furniture were a wooden table and chair and a wardrobe. It had the look of a room once kept immaculate but now disturbed by many hands trying not to leave everything in a shambles.
“Madame,” a woman’s voice shouted from below.
“Coming,” she called out the door. “Try not to make a mess,” she said and left.
The police had apparently shifted the thin mattress and put on top the items they’d found hidden beneath—an envelope with some pound notes tucked inside and two other envelopes containing letters.
On the table were two framed photographs. One was of a family group in old-fashioned dress. I studied the photo, but didn’t recognize anyone. I turned it over and opened the frame. On the back of the photo was written, in a spidery hand, “Blumfeld family, September, 1920” in German. None of those pictured were named individually.
With a shock I recognized the young man in the next photograph. It was the dead man, Josef Meirsohn, in his early twenties. To have kept his photograph this long, and carried it to London with her all these years later, Reina must have cared for him very much.
And that had to be why Mimi and Fleur recognized him when he lay on the basement floor. Reina must have left his photograph displayed in her room.
Then I unfolded the first letter and sank down on the bed to read it. It was written in old-fashioned German, taxing my literary and idiomatic knowledge of the language, and dated a week ago.
Dear Reina, it read, Whatever made you think of her and her rich relatives? I still can’t remember the name of the bank. I think her name was Lise, Elisa, something like that. Her family name was Grenbaum, I remember that.
Now that the Sudeten has been taken over by the Nazis, I doubt any more of our family can get out. I’ve heard the Czechs won’t let Jews cross the border ahead of the Germans the way they are allowing the Christian Czechs.
Once more, our village is cut off and surrounded by evil men. I dream of Mama at night, but in daylight I know I will never see her or any of our family again.
Please be careful, Reina. Nothing good can come of trying to find a selfish, vain woman like the little beauty Josef married or in helping the authorities. I’m sorry he is dead, but I’m sure someone like her will survive the end of the world.
Your loving cousin,
Deborah
And there on the envelope was Deborah’s address. I wanted to talk to her and learn what else she might know about the Grenbaums.
Grenbaum. Where had I heard that name before?
The other letter was sent only to set up a meeting between Reina and her cousin while she was in Paris. I put the letter about Elias’s wife and its envelope into my purse before I checked over the rest of the room. All of Reina’s clothes were in good repair. A few of them were stylish. I wondered if they were frocks rejected from Mimi Mareau’s line.
I didn’t find any other photos, notes, or trinkets that held a personal connection to the dead woman. I hoped she’d led a fuller life in Paris and kept her keepsakes there.
At that moment, two laborers brought a trunk into the room and walked away without a word. Curious, I walked over and opened it. Empty.
Mimi came in then and directed a seamstress to pack all of Reina’s belongings. I made a point of thanking Mimi for letting me see Reina’s room.
“And you didn’t find anything, did you? The police certainly didn’t.”
“I saw where you had seen Elias before he turned up dead in your basement.” I pointed to the photograph.
Mimi hugged her arms to her chest. “When I first saw him, I couldn’t think where I’d seen him before. Then I realized, and I knew the photograph gave Reina a link to the dead man. This proved she knew him. I couldn’t trust the police not to arrest her. And I couldn’t trust you not to tell them.”
I was reminded once again that I was the outsider here. Then I glanced at the trunk. “Her cousin isn’t coming over for her things?”
“No. I received a return telegram telling me to pack up her belongings and ship them to her in Paris.” Mimi looked around the room sadly. “She had little enough here. Little enough in Paris as well, I imagine.”
Then her tone turned stern. “Out. You’re in the way now.”
Once I returned to the Daily Premier building, I went straight to Sir Henry’s office. When I walked in, I told him, “I want to go back to Paris. I want to see if her cousin remembers anything else.”
“Do you have an address for the cousin?”
I pulled out the envelope containing the letter. “And I have a family name for Elias’s wife. Grenbaum.”
“You think that was what she was in such a hurry to tell you?”
“There’s no sign of anything else,” I told him, “but the police looked over her things first. They might have taken away any clues.”
“All right. You can go to Paris,” he grumbled. “But wait for the weekend. Miss Westcott was up here this morning, telling me to move you to the international desk. Telling me! Try not to ruffle her feathers for a while, will you?”
I nodded. Miss Westcott was being used by Sir Henry just as I was. I felt sympathy for the dried-up spinster as well as a little fear.
Except for my being a widow, that could also be my fate. Alone, chained to a demanding position, without love.
I went downstairs to my desk and set to work on my official job with renewed zeal.
That evening, I left with enough time to reach the war office at six o’clock promptly. I was escorted to the same conference room as before, but this time there was a surprise waiting for me alon
g with General Alford.
Adam!
He kept a professionally somber expression, but I’m not sure I managed to keep from smiling at the sight of him.
“I take it you two know each other.” As I felt my cheeks heat, General Alford continued, “Good. You two need to work together to find the French assassin.”
“Yes, sir,” Adam said, standing at parade rest.
“Relax, Redmond. We’re working with civilians now in a purely unofficial capacity.” The general turned to me. “I had the captain question Dickie Nicholson about the delivery and he sticks by the story he told you. A further word with Rex confirmed the details.”
“And since we know where the larger package came from, the smaller package sent at the same time and containing exploding cigars must have also come from there.” But how were we going to prove it?
“Possibly containing exploding cigars,” Adam reminded me. “And possibly sent from Mimi’s salon. We only have circumstantial evidence.”
“Do you have any better ideas?” I asked.
“No. That’s why we’re looking into it,” Adam responded, sounding a tad annoyed.
I turned away from the general to focus on Adam. “You’re obviously not going to be ordering a dress, and Mimi knows I can’t afford it, so how are you getting in there?”
“I’ve been attached to Scotland Yard to investigate the two murders in the basement.” Adam grinned at me. “A follow-up investigation.”
“Do we know each other?” I found it hard to hide my feelings for him.
“I could be Reggie’s cousin again. That worked well the last time.”
“Last time?” General Alford asked.
“When I was hunting for my husband’s killer.” I saw the general raise his eyebrows before I looked at Adam. “I could know you from a previous story for the Daily Premier. I’ve been bold enough for Mimi to believe I’d do anything to get the information for the newspaper.”
Adam nodded. “That sounds plausible.”
“Good. Now, where do we start?”
“Oh, no. There’s no ‘we,’ Mrs. Denis. Captain Redmond is in charge of this investigation. You have no part in it. You are a reporter for the women’s pages. Anything you learn at that dress shop, anything at all, you pass on to Captain Redmond. Is that clear?”