Dead of Winter (36 page)

‘Yes, but I’m more interested in who might have looked in at Guildford. Stuck his head in the door for a moment, say, and been spotted by Rosa.’

Tyson took a deep breath: it was clear he was trying hard to be helpful. But after a few moments’ thought he shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, sir. It might have happened. People looked in every time we stopped at a station. But I just can’t say for certain.’

I understand.’ Madden smiled in encouragement. But tell me what happened after that. Did they go on talking as before?’

Again Tyson hesitated.

‘Yes and no,’ he said, after a moment’s reflection. They were quiet for a bit, then they started chatting again, but it wasn’t like before. The atmosphere had changed. I don’t know why. I wasn’t watching them exactly, but I did glance at Rosa once or twice and I had the impression something was bothering her.’

‘Why was that?’

‘It was her manner. I can remember her leaning forward at one point and speaking in a low voice to the other girl. She seemed concerned about something. They were both behaving oddly. They’d gone quiet; they were subdued.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m only guessing, you understand. Everything they said was in Polish, so I really have no idea what was passing between them.’

Madden rubbed the scar on his forehead; it was a sign of his preoccupation.

‘Tell me what happened when you reached Waterloo,’ he said.

‘Well, I was in a hurry, as I told you, but I helped Rosa get her stuff down from the overhead rack and did the same for her friend and then I rushed off. We’d got in very late and in the event I missed my train to Oxford …’

He looked at Madden expectantly, waiting to see if he had anything more to say. As they stood there in silence, a burst of laughter came from the open doorway and a couple lurched in.

‘Oops …’

The young woman giggled. She was leading one of the officers by the hand and they lingered for a moment, swaying on their feet, uncertain what to do, before backing out.

‘Did you happen to learn where this other girl came from?’ Oblivious to the interruption, Madden continued. Where she’d got on the train?’

Tyson shook his head.

‘But she must have been living in the country. When I got her luggage down from the rack I noticed she had a basket of food, just as Rosa did.’

‘Can you describe her?’

The young pilot reflected.

‘She was about the same age as Rosa, but red-haired. The compartment wasn’t heated and she was wearing a coat, so I can’t tell you what sort of figure she had. But she wasn’t tall, about the same height as Rosa, I should say, but not as pretty.’ He flushed again. ‘She had a nice smile, though. I remember that.’

‘Just one more question. Was the platform at Waterloo crowded when you got off?’

‘Packed.’ Tyson’s answer came promptly. ‘With the train so late, everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere. They were piling out of the carriages. There was a proper scrum on the platform.’

Madden smiled. ‘Thank you, Paul,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a great help. Now you can get back to the party and enjoy yourself.’

He waited until the young man had gone, then followed him back into the hall and stood watching, hands in pockets, while the dancers slowly circled the floor. He was lost in thought, however, and failed to notice Helen’s wave as she passed by; nor did he see the kiss his daughter blew him. It was only when a massive figure finally positioned itself directly in front of him, demanding his attention, that he was forced to return to the present.

‘Will!’ Madden collected himself with a start. ‘I was about to come looking for you.’

‘Were you, sir?’ Stackpole’s broad smile belied his tone, which was disbelieving. ‘You looked like you were miles away.’ Out of his uniform for once, the Highfield bobby was sporting a dark suit of ancient cut fraying a little at the edges.

‘No, really. I’ve a question for you. A problem, rather …’

‘Let’s hear it, then.’ Stackpole drained the glass he was carrying in a single swallow.

‘How difficult would it be to discover the whereabouts of a young woman living not too far away from here – at least that’s my assumption – name unknown, but Polish by origin?’

‘An alien?’

‘Oh, yes. And in much the same sort of situation as Rosa was, I imagine.’

‘Meaning what, exactly?’ Stackpole frowned.

‘I’ve just learned they were on the same train going up to London that day. This other girl was taking some food up with her, just as Rosa did. So she’s probably living in or near a village rather than a town. And somewhere down the line from here, because she was already on the train when Rosa boarded it.’

Stackpole pondered the question. ‘Have you got a description of her?’ he asked.

‘Not a very good one. She’s about Rosa’s age, but redhaired. Nothing beyond that.’

‘Polish, though – that’s the point.’ The constable nodded wisely. ‘It won’t be too difficult. A few telephone calls should do the trick.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Wherever she is, she must be registered with the police. She’s an alien after all. And if she’s living in a village or in the countryside, she’ll have done that with the local bobby, same as Rosa did with me. It’s just a matter of checking the stations where the train stops and talking to the bobbies involved. I know most of them, by name at any rate, at least as far as Petersfield. I’ll start calling in the morning.’

‘Would you? I’d appreciate that. It’s not something I want to bother Mr Sinclair with, not at this stage. I’m just curious …’

‘Curious, sir?’

‘I’ve just been talking to that young pilot over there, the one with the scarred face. He was also on the train, in the same compartment as the girls, in fact. I think Ash may have looked in for a moment when they stopped at Guildford. Shown his face. Something happened there. The pilot noticed it. Rosa may have recognized him, and if so it would explain why he moved to kill her so quickly afterwards. What I want to find out is whether Rosa said anything about it to this other girl.’

Stackpole was silent, taking in the information. Then he shrugged.

‘Can’t see that it’ll help much with the investigation, sir, even if you do find out. Nor with the hunt for this fellow Ash.’

‘That’s true.’

Madden acknowledged the fact with a rueful smile and a nod.

‘It’s why I don’t want to bother the chief inspector. He’s got enough on his plate. But apart from the air-raid warden Rosa bumped into in Bloomsbury, this girl was probably the last person she spoke to, and if so, I want to know that.’

He nodded to himself, as if in response to some unuttered thought.

‘I want to hear what passed between them.’

24

I
T HAD STOPPED SNOWING
when Lily woke up the next morning, and after snatching a mouthful of breakfast with Aunt Betty in the kitchen – Uncle Fred wasn’t on duty until later that day and was still snoring in bed – she went out with a bowl of beef dripping wrapped in greaseproof paper in her hands and a list of errands in her pocket. The dripping was to be delivered to Ada Chapworth, who had a house in Star Street, fifteen minutes’ walk from Orsett Terrace where the Pooles lived, in return for four pig’s trotters, which Lily was then to take to the Harwood residence, just across the Edgware Road, in Marylebone, where she would receive in exchange from Ellie Harwood half a pound of sugar, a jar of home-made cherry jam and three eggs.

‘And make sure none of them’s cracked,’ Aunt Betty had told her niece before she set off. ‘That Ellie’s a sharp one.’

Ever since rationing had been introduced, the trade in bartered goods had grown steadily, and with the shops, despite the approach of Christmas, emptier than ever, housewives had learned to exercise their ingenuity. Lily didn’t bother with it herself – she tended to eat her main meal of the day, unappetizing though it usually was, in a police canteen – but she knew how much it meant to her aunt to keep up standards at home and she was happy to do her the favour.

As luck would have it, however, her route to Mrs Chapworth took her down Praed Street, and as she went by the Astor café she stopped for a moment to peer through the steamed-up window. Four women were sitting together at a table at the back of the cramped room, and, having paused to check their faces, Lily tucked the bowl of dripping safely under one arm and pushed the door open.

‘Merry Christmas, ladies.’

She crossed to where they were sitting, collecting a chair from another table as she went and signalling to the apronclad man behind the counter with a nod and a gesture that she wanted teas served all round. As she sat down, one of the tarts spoke up.

‘Look what the cat dragged in. Where’d you get that coat? Down the flea market?’

The speaker was a heavily built woman whose breasts bulged over the top of her low-cut dress. The garment she referred to was Lily’s ‘utility’ coat. Being off-duty she wasn’t wearing her uniform and she ignored the jibe.

‘Hello, Molly,’ she said, addressing her remark to another of the group, a younger woman with peroxide hair who was sitting by the wall. Red-eyed and tearful, she hadn’t looked up at Lily’s approach, just gone on staring into her empty teacup. ‘I want a word with you.’

‘Let her be. Can’t you see she’s upset?’

The first woman spoke again, her tone more belligerent now. When Lily again failed to respond, she went on, What you doing here anyway, Poole? This isn’t your patch any more.’

Lily turned her head slowly to look at her.

‘What did you call me?’ she asked in a tone of disbelief.

The woman slowly went red under her gaze. She shifted her ample body in her chair.

‘Constable Poole, I meant …’ The words were spoken in a mutter.

‘And don’t you forget it.’ Lily continued to stare at her without expression for several seconds. ‘Now keep it shut, Dorrie Stubbs, or I’ll put you on a charge.’

‘For what?’

‘Sticking your nose in where it’s got no business.’

Lily wasn’t short of experience in dealing with tarts, and although she felt sorry for some of them, she’d learned to keep up a hard front. It was true they had a rotten life, but they’d chosen it themselves, or most of them had, and for the same reason: bone idleness. And you couldn’t give them an inch, she knew, because they’d take it; and anything else they could get their hands on.

‘Now if you want another cup of tea, here it comes – ’ she’d seen the counterman approaching with a loaded tray – ‘if not, bugger off. I want to ask Molly something and I don’t want any interruptions.’

‘What you want with me?’ In spite of her quiet sobbing, Molly Minter had been listening. The mascara was running down her cheeks from the corners of her eyes as she looked up. ‘I don’t know nothing.’

‘You knew Horace Quill if I’m not mistaken.’

At the sound of the name, Molly burst into a fresh bout of tears.

‘There – see what you’ve done.’

Dorrie patted the hand lying on the table beside hers. The other two girls who Lily didn’t know – they must have been new since her time at Paddington – looked uneasy. Their fresh cups of tea stood untouched before them. Ignoring the fuss she’d started, Lily pressed on.

‘Have you talked to the law yet?’ she asked Molly. ‘Have you been interviewed?’

‘How could she?’ Dorrie demanded before her friend had time to answer. She only got back from Streatham last evening. Went to see her old mum, she did. First thing she hears is someone’s topped her feller.’

The answer was as Lily had feared, and it gave her pause. She knew she ought to back off now and leave this to Paddington. Roy Cooper would want first bite of any witness and he wouldn’t take kindly to her interfering. But she was reluctant to abandon the idea that had prompted her to enter the café and she told herself one question wouldn’t do any harm.

‘All right, listen now.’ She tapped her teaspoon on the table to get Molly’s attention. ‘This won’t take a second. Was Horace dealing in dodgy cards and ration books still? You can tell me. He’s dead now, so it won’t make no difference.’

Molly delayed her answer while she wiped her eyes; then she shook her head. ‘He’d stopped all that. He told me so himself. Said he’d learned his lesson.’ She choked back a sob. ‘We was going to get married …’

Disappointed by the reply she’d got – she was hoping Quill had been up to his old tricks again – Lily rolled her eyes in disbelief.

‘It was true.’ Molly roused herself. She glared at Lily. ‘Just cause you ain t got no one …

‘Mind your lip.’ Lily scowled. ‘And you too, Dorrie Stubbs,’ she added, catching the big tart’s eye and seeing she was about to add a comment of her own.

‘He’d been getting some money together,’ Molly continued doggedly. He said we was going to get hitched. He’d been working on a job. Proper work, too.’

‘What do you mean – proper work?’

‘Being a private detective and all.’

‘Oh, that …’ Lily swallowed her disappointment. ‘Look, I’m sorry for your loss.’

Feeling she might have been a little hard on the poor cow,Lily patted her arm and rose to leave. Her idea had turned out to be a dud and she was wishing now she had left Molly Minter to the Paddington CID. Word of this chat she’d had with one of their witnesses was bound to get back to them, and there’d likely be ructions.

‘He’d got a client who was paying good money, too.’ Molly wasn’t finished yet. ‘Wads of it, Horace said.’

Wanting to be off, Lily hesitated; her curiosity was piqued.

‘What sort of job?’ she asked. ‘Divorce case?’

‘Nah – missing persons.’ Molly sniffed.

Well, that was no surprise, Lily thought, as she buttoned her coat and picked up her bowl of dripping. For all sorts of reasons the war had led to people disappearing from their usual haunts. (Some had done it on purpose; flown the coop.) The police didn’t have time to look for them, not unless foul play was suspected. From what she’d heard, private detectives were making a mint tracking them down.

‘Who was he looking for, then?’

The question came from Dorrie. Lily had already turned away and was heading for the door. But when she heard Molly’s reply she stopped dead in her tracks and did a quick about-turn.