by Mike Hollow
“I don’t know. Save them for a rainy day?”
“I’m not sure it’ll ever get that rainy. He wanted twelve and six for them. Anyway, I didn’t buy them, but he did say he could get some of that peroxide for dyeing your hair, only he had to nip round the corner to get it from his mate. I kept an eye on him as he went, and you’ll never guess whose house he went to.”
“Surprise me.”
“Harry Parker’s.”
“That’s not a big surprise. So he’s the source of your man’s hydrogen peroxide. We’ll have a word with Harry, then.”
“And you, sir?”
“What about me?”
“You haven’t told me yet what happened when you went to see Angela Willerson.”
“Ah, yes, that was most interesting too,” said Jago. “To put it in a nutshell, it turned out she wasn’t quite telling us the whole truth when she said she hadn’t seen that photo of Celia’s at the dance.”
“Do you know why?”
“Yes, because she says when she saw the man in the picture, she recognized him.”
“Who was he?”
“You’ll like this, Peter. An intriguing coincidence. She said he was a man who’d paid her what she called unwanted attentions, and she’d had to send him packing. She didn’t want to mention it, because she thought it might embarrass Celia. And what’s more, she said he’d called himself Smith, but she wasn’t convinced.”
“So that would mean the man who was pestering Angela and calling himself Smith was actually Celia’s husband. Could he be the same Smith who accosted Beatrice too?”
“A Smith here, a Smith there… These types don’t have much imagination, do they?” said Jago. “It’s possible, but on the other hand you could probably walk down the street today and meet at least two Mr Smiths, so I’d keep an open mind on it.”
“But even so, sir, that means –” Cradock broke off, catching up with his thoughts, then smacked his hand against his thigh. “Yes, that’s it! Angela’s Mr Smith is really Richard Berry, and we know he and George Fletcher are one and the same. So if it turned out Angela’s Smith was the same man as Beatrice’s Smith, they’d both be George Fletcher!”
“Quite possibly,” said Jago.
He gestured to a buff-coloured envelope poking out of the cubby hole in the passenger side of the dashboard.
“That cap Beatrice says she picked up last night after Smith lost it is in there. Take it out and have a look inside.”
Cradock followed his instruction and examined the inside of the hat from every angle.
“Nothing as far as I can see, except for the manufacturer’s label.”
“But that’s the whole point. Who’s the manufacturer?”
“It says Herbert Johnson, hat and cap maker, Bond Street.”
“Correct. And if you knew anything about hats you’d know Herbert Johnson makes top quality ones. Worn by the crowned heads of Europe, that sort of thing. This one looks fairly new, and it may have been bought locally, so I want you to start by checking the local gents’ outfitters. There won’t be many shops round here that sell pricey items like this. If you don’t get any joy here, try their own shop in Bond Street. Find out if anyone remembers selling it, and to whom.”
CHAPTER 36
The boot was on the other foot. Jago was accustomed to questioning suspects whether they liked it or not, but now it felt as though he were the one assisting Dorothy with her enquiries. He’d promised to take her to the Railway Tavern on Wednesday evening so she could sample the kind of haunt where black market trading went on, and possibly even see some of it in action, and Wednesday evening had now come. He’d asked her to arrive by six, so that they’d stand a chance of avoiding the evening air raids, but she’d been late. Now it was almost blackout time. He hoped she’d be able to absorb as much of the atmosphere as she needed for her article before the bombs started falling.
He ushered her in through the entrance. Inside there were doors marked “Public Bar” and “Saloon Bar”.
“Which one?” said Dorothy.
“They’re not used to seeing women in the public bar,” said Jago. “It might overexcite them. We’ll take the saloon bar. Even so, stick close to me.”
The saloon bar was crowded, but he spotted one small table at the far end that was unoccupied and asked Dorothy to sit at it and keep his chair while he went to the bar in search of drinks. Dorothy asked for an orange juice but they didn’t have any, so she settled for a lemonade, to the apparent disgust of the barman. Jago got himself a pint of bitter and joined her at the table.
“How did you get on in Liverpool?” he asked, taking his seat.
“That trip was a real eye-opener,” said Dorothy. “I’ve seen what’s happening to London, but they’re getting it up there too. Terrible bombing, people suffering.”
“Because it’s a port, I suppose. Biggest on the west coast, main port for North American shipping, it’s bound to be a major target.”
“Yes, like here – the Germans need to destroy the ports, but the civilians are getting bombed too. The destruction is as bad as anything I’ve seen down here. Even the prison got bombed, just a few days ago – Walton Gaol. Twenty-two prisoners died, they said. I saw a destroyer bringing in survivors from a passenger ship that had been torpedoed too – the City of Benares. Just kids, they were: children being evacuated to Canada. It would break your heart.”
“One of our men came to see me a couple of days ago. He lost both his children on that ship.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“This war spares no one. But I’m glad you were there to see what was happening. You know more than I do about how things are up there.”
Jago glanced over Dorothy’s shoulder towards the other end of the saloon bar. Without a word he slumped down into his chair, held his glass in front of his mouth and used his free hand to obscure the upper part of his face, as if resting his head on it.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dorothy. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thank you, but all of a sudden I don’t want to be seen. You’re interested in crime, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“I’ve just spotted a man I’m planning to question about some potentially criminal activity he may have been involved in. Don’t turn round. I don’t want him to know I’m here, but I want to keep an eye on him.”
Dorothy resisted her instinct to look over her shoulder.
“Okay. Just let me know if you want me to move or anything. Everything in me wants to take a look and get the story, but I won’t get in your way.”
“Thanks,” said Jago.
He was concentrating on what Harry was doing. Not much, it seemed. He hadn’t bought a drink, and wasn’t talking to anyone. He kept glancing at the door, as if he were waiting for someone. A couple of minutes passed. The door opened, and the person who came in scanned the room cautiously, then approached Harry.
Jago almost spilled his beer.
“Good heavens,” he exclaimed, his eyes fixed on the new arrival.
“What’s happening?” asked Dorothy. “I can’t bear the suspense.”
“The man I’m watching is called Harry Parker, and I suspect him of selling scarce items on the black market. Someone’s just come in who’s the last person I’d expect to see in a pub like this, and especially meeting Harry. They seem to know each other.”
“Who is he, this other person?”
“Not he. It’s a she. She’s a very respectable lady, and her name is Miss Winifred Hornby.”
The name meant nothing to Dorothy, but she could tell from Jago’s face that the woman had captured all his attention.
“What are they doing?”
“Wait a moment and I’ll tell you.”
Jago didn’t take his eyes off the couple as they got into a conversation.
“They’re talking about something,” he said, “but she looks a bit frosty, and he’s got his hard face on. It doesn’t look
like a friendly chat. But not an argument either, more like business. She’s running her eyes round the room, looking furtive.”
“Can she see you?”
“I don’t think so. Now she’s getting something out of her handbag. It’s a purse. She’s opened that now and she’s taking something out – a banknote, I think. I can’t be sure, but it looks mauve from here, so that would make it a ten bob note.”
“A what?”
“Ten shillings – two dollars in your money. She’s giving him a few coins too. Now he’s putting his hand in his pocket. Maybe he’s got something to give her. Let’s just – yes, he’s passing her a small package, she’s taking a look inside. Now she’s moved. I can’t see what he’s doing – she’s got her back to me and she’s blocking my view. But it looks like they’ve finished whatever it is they’re here for anyway. She’s leaving – probably can’t wait to get out of a dive like this. What’s Harry going to do? He’s waiting… Yes, it looks like he’s just waiting for her to get away – now he’s making for the door too.”
Jago waited for a moment in case Harry should return, then relaxed. He took a sip of beer and put his glass down on the table.
“Well, that was a surprise,” he said. “It was worth coming here tonight just for that, whatever they were up to.”
“I was kind of hoping it might have been worth your while coming here tonight to see me too,” said Dorothy.
“Yes, of course, obviously I –”
He felt he was about to run out of words, but was spared when Dorothy continued.
“You see, I’ve got a surprise for you too.”
“Really? What is it?”
“You can’t have it just now – I didn’t bring it with me. Someone else is bringing it. You just have to wait a few minutes.”
CHAPTER 37
Ten minutes or so passed while Jago tried to make conversation with Dorothy by asking her more about her visit to the north-west of England. She kept checking her watch, and soon began glancing towards the door every time she did so.
“Whoever’s bringing my surprise had better get here soon,” said Jago. “If he doesn’t get a move on the Luftwaffe will be here first, and they usually bring some very nasty surprises.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Dorothy. “He won’t let them interrupt anything.”
She looked at the door one more time, and this time it opened. Jago saw a look of excitement flash across her face.
“There he is,” she said.
Jago looked too. He was about to share in her obvious pleasure when he saw the man enter the pub. He was a tall young man in RAF uniform, with one ring on his tunic cuff.
Jago felt an unfamiliar mix of emotions welling up in his chest. Disappointment, sadness, and a curious sense of defeat. So what was the surprise? Were they going to announce their engagement to him? His mind spun briefly as he struggled to bring his feelings under control.
The man strode across the room to Dorothy, placed his hands lightly on her shoulders while she was still seated, and planted a quick kiss on her left cheek. She turned to Jago with a wide smile. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Is this my surprise?” he said at last.
“Not entirely,” replied Dorothy. “This is part of it. This gentleman, as you can probably tell, is in the Royal Air Force.”
The man put out his hand and gave Jago’s a firm shake.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” he said.
Jago didn’t know whether this was what she had referred to, but he was indeed surprised to hear what sounded like a North American accent.
“You too,” he said. “Are you Canadian?”
The man laughed.
“Everyone says that. I guess it’s entirely understandable, though. After all, the Canadians are in this war with you, and we’re not.”
“You mean –”
“You got it. I’m American.”
“Fighting for us?”
“One of a very select few, yes.”
“But how –”
Dorothy stood and interrupted them.
“Now, now, boys. Before you get busy talking about the war, there’s my surprise to think about.”
“So he’s not your surprise?” said Jago.
“He’s part of it,” said Dorothy. “But I said he was bringing it too.”
Whatever he was bringing must be pretty small, thought Jago. He clearly wasn’t carrying anything, and the pockets on his tunic were flat.
“So what is it?”
“The surprise is something he couldn’t help bringing with him – it’s his name. Allow me to introduce you. Detective Inspector John Jago of the Metropolitan Police Service, this is Pilot Officer Samuel J. Appleton of the Royal Air Force.”
“Appleton…” said Jago. “You mean you’re related?”
“You silly boy, John. Haven’t you worked it out yet? He’s the one I told you about. You remember, when you took me to lunch the other week and we had that pie and mash thing? You asked me who else was in my family.”
“Yes…”
“Well, this is the one I said I’d tell you about later. But then I thought, I can do better than that – I’ll introduce him in person.”
“You mean –”
“Yes,” said Dorothy. “This is Sam – my brother.”
It took a little while for Jago to regain his composure. He was now filled with a sense of embarrassment and guilt for what he’d been thinking about Dorothy. His first response was to mask his state of confusion by going to the bar to fetch a drink for Sam and taking his time about it. He soon realized, however, that even fiddling round in his pocket for the exact change could only buy him a few extra seconds. He returned to the table, where Sam had now pulled up an extra chair.
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Dorothy. “Now you’re back I think I’ll go powder my nose. Is that safe here, John? I know you’re concerned for my safety.”
“It should be okay now you’ve got the RAF here,” he said, in an attempt at light wit.
“Okay, well you boys can get to know each other while I’m away.”
She disappeared across the bar, leaving the two men alone. Jago raised his glass.
“Cheers. I hope you don’t mind the beer being warmer than you’re used to.”
“Cheers,” said Sam. “No, that’s fine. I’m getting used to it now.”
Jago gestured at the ring on Sam’s sleeve.
“So you’re a pilot officer, then. What do you fly?”
“Fighters.”
“Really? Fast work, then?”
“Yes, I fly Spitfires, and they’re very fast.”
“How is it you’re an officer in the RAF when you’re American? I didn’t know that was allowed.”
“Well, it’s a long story, but essentially you’re right – it was actually illegal for an American citizen to go to another country to enlist in their armed forces. If we wanted to join the RAF, the quickest way was to cross over into Canada, but if the US authorities caught us trying, they could jail us for three years – we’d be breaking the neutrality laws. But once France fell this year the government seemed to turn a blind eye.”
“Did many Americans try?”
“I don’t know how many, but quite a few, I’d say. Our air force has got all the pilots it needs, and we’re not fighting a war. There’s a lot of guys who know how to fly but can’t get a job. And who’d pass up the chance to fly a Spitfire? It’s the best plane in the world.”
“But if you join the RAF, don’t you have to swear allegiance to the king? Surely that’d be a bit steep for a true-blooded American, even if it did mean you got a chance to fly a Spitfire.”
Sam laughed.
“Absolutely – we don’t get along with kings too well where I come from, especially when they’re called George. But someone worked out a way round it. Instead of pledging allegiance to the king, all we had to do was pledge to obey the orders of our commanders and we were in.”
“And did you
come through Canada?”
“Yes. I arrived here and joined my squadron at the beginning of August. That was a Sunday, and on the Monday I was in action against a bunch of Me 109s at ten thousand feet over the Channel. That was an exciting introduction, I can tell you.”
“And this may sound like a crazy question, but why do it? Why volunteer for another country’s war when you could sit tight at home?”
“Well, you know, I don’t want to sound too serious about this, but I was raised to do what I thought was right. I look at the world and I see a country in Europe doing bad things to people. That makes me think I want to stop them doing that. My country doesn’t want to do that, but yours does, so I decided to come here and do my bit, as you all say. It’s as simple as that. If you know my sister, you’ll know the way I think.”
If I know your sister, thought Jago… He was beginning to wonder whether he knew her at all. He had some making up to do, even if she didn’t know what he’d been thinking.
“So which squadron are you in, if I’m allowed to ask?”
“I’m in 41 Squadron, but I heard just the other day there are now enough American pilots in the RAF to form an all-American squadron, so I may find myself getting transferred soon. I’m kind of hoping that won’t happen, though, because where I’m stationed now I’m very close to the action.”
“Where are you stationed, if I may ask?”
“I’m not far from here, actually – at RAF Hornchurch.”
Jago saw Dorothy approaching. She rejoined them at the table and sat down.
“How are you boys getting along?”
“Fine,” replied Jago. “Your brother was just telling me he’s stationed at Hornchurch.”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you why I was at that dance – the one where there was that business of the women and the photograph. I’d gone to see Sam, but if I’d told you it would have spoiled my surprise. I’m so proud of what he’s doing, I wanted to introduce you to him in person rather than just tell you about him.”
Sam was beginning to look puzzled.
“I’m getting lost,” he said. “What’s all this about the dance at the station and a photograph?”