Princes Gate

by Mark Ellis

  “Och, I’ve had a bit of a disaster there. I think I told you I met a nice Polish girl who lived round the corner from the station. Gorgeous girl. Lovely red-brown hair. I took her out for a drink a couple of times, then dinner. I was getting quite sweet on her. Anyway, a couple of nights ago I’d just got off duty and was having a bite to eat with a friend in some place just off Shaftesbury Avenue. As we were leaving, the light from the restaurant door picked out someone passing and I thought it was my Polish friend. I called her name but there was no reply. I said so long to my mate and went off in pursuit. Not easy, of course, in the dark but I managed to pick out the girl and tried to catch up. She kept moving at quite a lick and before I could catch her up, she’d turned into a side street and I thought I’d lost her. There was a door and I looked at it with my torch. It was a nightclub of some sort. The girl had disappeared so abruptly that it occurred to me that she might have gone into the club.” Stewart paused to swill more beer. “So, I went down the stairs of this place and went through a door guarded by a grim-looking doorman and all of a sudden, out of the murk in the room I entered, I was surrounded by girls. It was a bloody clip joint! I glanced around and sure enough, in a far corner at the bar I could see the lovely Sonia taking her coat off. A bloody clip joint and I was getting sweet on a tart, for God’s sake! So I cleared off. Women, eh!”

  Merlin smiled in commiseration. “Plenty more sardines in the can, Jack. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Stewart lit up a cigarette. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so choosy. From what I saw of them, the other girls looked quite smart. Maybe we should go there tonight. That’d certainly help you get your mind off work.”

  “I don’t think so, thank you.”

  “Here you are. Just for future reference. I picked these up there. The name and address are on the back. You never know, Francisco.”

  Merlin picked up the blue book of matches and read the words on the cover – The Blue Angel. Stewart blew a smoke ring. “Not very original, is it?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Friday February 2nd

  Kathleen Donovan sat mute and pale-faced in one of Miss Edgar’s straight-backed and rather uncomfortable chairs, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. They had been telephoned first thing at the Yard and informed that she was back at work. Bridges looked across at his boss who was looking a little the worse for wear. He was aware that Merlin didn’t have much of a head for booze and also that his intake had increased substantially since his wife had died. He was protective of his boss who had been almost like a father to him and worried if he should say something about the drink as well as about the hole in the shoe. Then again perhaps not – the Chief Inspector’s sense of humour had certainly reappeared since the New Year, and he was making some effort with his appearance – look at that flashy hat he had just put down on the table.

  “Has Miss Donovan said anything to you about her whereabouts yesterday, Miss Edgar?”

  “Not yet, Chief Inspector. She came in and apologised saying she had a bit of flu yesterday. I was going to ask her some questions but then thought you’d prefer to do that. I couldn’t see how I couldn’t tell her about Johnny though.”

  “Of course.”

  Kathleen whimpered then blew her nose. Bridges moved towards her and placed his hands gently on her shoulder.

  “Come on now, love. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  She slowly shook her head.

  Merlin took Miss Edgar to one side.

  “What did she say when you told her about Johnny Morgan?”

  “She didn’t say anything. She just burst into tears and has been like this ever since.”

  “Perhaps it’s best if we speak to Miss Donovan in private.”

  She gazed rather unsympathetically at the young girl.

  “Good luck to you.” She picked up a file from her desk and left, muttering something under her breath.

  “I know this is very upsetting, Miss Donovan, but we have a duty to Joan and Johnny to find the people who killed them. We’ve only got a few questions. Why don’t you come over here and sit in a bit more comfort?”

  Kathleen remained motionless for a short while then abruptly rose and moved across the room to join him on the sofa. Bridges parked himself in the vacated chair. Her face assumed a resigned look as her fingers kneaded the yellow handkerchief she was holding.

  “Good. Now can you tell us what happened to you yesterday and the day before?”

  “I wasn’t feeling very well so I took yesterday off.”

  “So we understand. You had the flu?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you let us know why you weren’t at home yesterday, because we sent someone round to your lodgings to find you and your landlady said she hadn’t seen you at all since the day before?”

  “I went to stay with some relatives.”

  “And who would they be?”

  A little colour returned to her cheeks. “Why do you need to know that? I don’t want them being bothered. What have they got to do with anything?”

  “You were a friend of two people who have been violently murdered. It is our job to know your whereabouts and movements.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Are you saying I’m some sort of suspect or something?”

  “We have to explore every avenue. No one’s saying you’re a suspect but we have to make certain that everyone’s telling the truth. We will need to know who you were staying with.”

  She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I was staying with my brother’s family.”

  “And your brother’s name?”

  “Cormac. Cormac Donovan. He’s been over here for a couple of years. He’s in the building trade. He lives in Kilburn. He’s got a wife and a lovely little daughter. Kathleen she is. Named after me.” Bridges noted a flicker of family pride passing over the girl’s face. He was the proud uncle of a nephew and two nieces himself.

  “We’ll need their address.”

  “If you must.” She darted a glance at Bridges who waved his notebook in such a way as to indicate he’d take it down later.

  “When exactly did you go to your brother’s?”

  “That would have been the night before last. Wednesday night.”

  “And when was the last time you saw Johnny Morgan?”

  “I think I saw him at some time during that Wednesday.”

  “In the Ambassador’s residence or outside?”

  “Oh, in the residence. Just in passing. In the lobby I think.” Bridges sensed the girl tensing as her shoulders tightened.

  “In the morning or afternoon?”

  “I think it was in the morning. I bumped into him in the lobby.

  “You weren’t so very well that morning, were you?”

  Kathleen blushed and cast her eyes back down to the floor. “I suppose the flu was just starting then.”

  “Can you remember the last time you saw Mr Morgan before you saw him on Wednesday morning?”

  She stared hard at the floral carpet beneath her. She put her crumpled handkerchief to her nose. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I must have seen him around the day before.”

  “In the residence you mean?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You don’t think you might have seen him in a pub on Tuesday night?”

  She dropped her handkerchief and bent quickly with a shaking hand to pick it up before Bridges had a chance to do it for her. “What do you mean? No… I…” She darted an anxious look at Bridges.

  “Mr Merlin and I thought you might have had a friendly drink with Mr Morgan on Tuesday. Now think hard, Miss. Perhaps you’re confusing dates in your mind.”

  She took a moment to compose herself.

  “Yes, I remember now, I did have a drink with Johnny on Tuesday night. I must have been thinking of the night before.”

  “And when was it on Tuesday that you met up?”

  She closed her eyes. Merlin fidgeted impatiently with his tie.

  “Come on now. Best
to tell us everything.”

  Her green eyes reappeared, watery but still beautiful. “I remember now that we went for a drink together after work.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “To the pub around the corner. It’s called The Prince of Wales, I think.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “We spent quite a while there. I was upset about Joan’s death and all the questioning.”

  “Did you have a lot to drink?”

  “I suppose we both did. Drowning our sorrows, so to speak.”

  “Did Johnny say anything in particular about Joan?”

  A teardrop slowly trickled down Kathleen’s cheek and briefly sparkled as it was caught by a beam of winter sunshine which had found its way into the room. “He was worried whether I’d told you that he’d been out with Joan.”

  “And had he?”

  “One of the other chauffeurs thought he’d seen him out on the Thursday before she disappeared, but he denied it.”

  “Had he been out with Joan on other occasions?”

  “He said that he had met up with her out of the office. Apparently she’d asked him advice on occasions. Something about getting new lodgings, although she never mentioned that to me.”

  “An attractive man, Johnny Morgan, wasn’t he? And Miss Harris was a pretty girl. It’s quite easy to imagine them having a fling, isn’t it?”

  “He said there was no fling, so – ”

  “Did you find Johnny attractive?”

  She pursed her lips. “I don’t see that that’s got anything to do with things.”

  “Where did you go after your drink? Home to your lodgings?”

  “No.” Her voice rose. “If you must know I went back with Johnny to his place. I’m not really that sort of girl, you know, but Johnny had got me drunk. I don’t know how many drinks I had, but I’ve never had that many before.”

  “You say you went back to his place. When you got there, what happened?”

  Kathleen flushed. Bridges wondered whether Merlin was not being a little too hard on her but bit his tongue.

  “Did you have any more to drink?”

  “No. He offered me a whisky but I don’t like whisky and anyway I’d had enough.”

  “Then what – did he, did he take advantage of you?”

  She rubbed her forehead slowly before glaring at Merlin. “How do you know all of this? Have you had spies on me or something?”

  Bridges rose abruptly from his chair, looked earnestly over at his boss and pointed towards the door. Merlin hesitated a moment before getting to his feet and following the sergeant out of the room.

  “Don’t you think we’re being a bit heavy-handed, sir? Perhaps we should speak to her later, when she’s a bit calmer.”

  Merlin dabbed some perspiration away from above his right eye and drew in his breath. “You think so, Sergeant? I don’t know.” He drew in his breath again. “No, we need to get on with it. In the light of what happened to Morgan, the events of Tuesday night now loom large. And what about the visitor who arrived just before I left? Who the hell was he? We’ve got to get her story out in full. If you think I’m doing it too roughly, why don’t you have a go?”

  They went back in. Kathleen had curled up, her legs tucked beneath her, at the end of the sofa.

  Merlin went over to the window and stared out at the traffic and the park. A bus covered in a colourful advertisement for Ovaltine passed by. It had snowed again during the night and a large and impressive snowman had been constructed directly opposite.

  “Now, Miss, we know you went back with Johnny to his room – I’m sorry but there’s no delicate way of saying this – you went to bed with Johnny?” Bridges himself blushed as he put his question.

  She buried her head in her hands.

  “Did you sleep with Morgan?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “With consent or did Morgan force you?”

  “I can’t really remember much of what happened. I was very drunk. I remember Johnny soaking me with whisky when he dropped the glasses he was holding, then I remember suddenly finding myself in bed. Then I remember pain. Then sleep and I remember waking up with a terrible headache. When I woke up it was light but I was alone.”

  “And, sorry Miss, the pain was?”

  Her voice hardened. “What do you think it was? He had his way with me didn’t he? Got me drunk and had his fun. I was a – I’d never done it before.”

  Merlin moved over from the window, sat down by her side and patted her hand. “I’m sorry to put you through this, dear. Is there anything else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “I was wondering whether Johnny had any visitors while you were there?”

  “The whole night after we got to Johnny’s room is like a dream – no a nightmare – to me. I can’t remember any details. I had a lot to drink and I think Johnny might have given me some pills as well.” She shuddered at the memory.

  “When did he give you pills?”

  “No idea. I just seem to remember taking some pills or medicine at some point.”

  “What type of pills?”

  “I don’t know. I just remember being in pain and Johnny telling me that he had something which would make me feel better.”

  “And you can’t remember anything else? A man coming to give something or take something from Johnny, perhaps?”

  “No. I can’t remember, I can’t remember. Please stop asking your questions!” She shook her head rapidly back and forth before becoming calm again.

  “Just one more, dear. You said that you went back with Morgan to his place. Was it your impression that the room he took you to was his own?”

  “When he asked me back first, I said I didn’t want to go back to the Ambassador’s residence. I didn’t want anyone gossiping you know. But he said he had another place nearby. I remember saying how nice it was when we got there and asking about it but he just shrugged.”

  “Alright. That’s it, Miss Donovan. I know it’s been difficult. Thank you.”

  She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

  “I’ll be getting on then.”

  Merlin found Johnson hovering outside his door.

  “Ten minutes please, Peter. I’ve got a couple of things to do then you can come and tell me all about it.”

  Johnson nodded and withdrew reluctantly.

  Merlin sat down heavily at his desk and in the process knocked his Eiffel Tower paperweight to the floor. He knelt down under the desk to retrieve it, grateful to find it all in one piece. As he surfaced, he was confronted by a familiar pair of pinstripe trousers.

  “Not trying to hide from me are you, Chief Inspector?”

  “Heaven forfend, sir. Just saving a Parisian landmark.”

  The A.C. smiled bleakly before sitting down. “This is getting very worrying indeed, Frank. Two Embassy murders now. I know they’re not very important people but I’m going to have to put the Foreign Office in the picture. I filled in the Home Secretary this morning. He looked like he was chewing a particularly sharp lemon when I told him. Didn’t say much though. Just said to be careful not to tread on any important toes, as I’ve already told you, and said that Halifax wouldn’t be very happy.” The A.C. gave his own impression of someone chewing a particularly sharp lemon. “Any ideas on this second murder?”

  “The fellow whose throat was shredded, Morgan, was the chauffeur I was telling you about. It seems a distinct possibility that he was involved with Miss Harris in some way. We spent the morning interviewing another Embassy girl who Morgan went after.”

  The A.C. drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Do you think the murders were committed by the same person?”

  “Too early to say. I am inclined to think that the victims were both mixed up together in something unsavoury – something unsavoury which might explain their deaths.”

  “Perhaps this chauffeur killed Joan Harris and someone has taken his revenge?�
�

  “A possibility. I’m trying to keep an open mind about all possibilities.”

  The A.C.’s cheeks flushed crimson.

  “It seems to me that you’d better begin narrowing the possibilities down pretty quickly. This could become a bloody mess if you don’t get to the bottom of it soon. Who knows where this might lead with our American friends, eh?”

  He jerked to his feet and stalked to the door, behind which he found a waiting Johnson.

  “Come in, come in.” The A.C. paused and stood back briefly. “Good God man, in this light you look like Adolf Hitler. Shave that thing off, will you?”

  The door banged and Johnson sat down in a mild state of shock.

  “Was he being serious, sir?”

  “I rather think he was.”

  “My girl really likes this moustache. She was the one who asked me to grow it. Thinks it makes me look like Ronald Coleman.”

  “We all have to make sacrifices in this war, Inspector. The loss of your moustache will have to be one of hers. Let’s hope it’s the biggest sacrifice she has to make, eh?”

  Johnson managed a weak smile.

  “So what’s the story, Peter? Who’s your suspect for the hit and run?”

  “Have you read my report yet, sir?”

  Merlin shuffled his papers and eventually found Johnson’s note.

  “Sorry, what with everything that’s been happening, I still haven’t had a chance. You’d better tell me everything.”

  Johnson rummaged in his jacket for his Woodbines.

  “May I?”

  Merlin nodded and declined the offered cigarette.

  “I’d better start off by saying that although I think I’ve made some progress, the case is far from open and shut.”

  “Why then, is the man upstairs under the impression that we can pretty much close the file?”

  “Well, sir, he cornered me in the corridor yesterday morning first thing. He asked me rather aggressively how I was getting on in this case and I told him that I had just identified a suspect. I attempted to give him some of the detail but he didn’t listen to me, slapped my back and asked when I was going to pick the suspect up. I told him I was hoping to do that yesterday afternoon.”