Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (4 page)

The Brigadier paled further still. “My God, I’ll be ruined,” he stammered.

“Sir, I can keep this out of any reports and you out the frame, but I will need some details. How long had you been seeing Ramona?”

“I … about three months I think.”

“You met her here?”

“Yes,” he stammered.

“How did you come to be at The Blue Rose yourself?”

“Some chaps, mentioned it to me, got me curious. I only came down to see what the scene was like these days, you understand. I’m an old chap; I wondered what the bars and clubs were like these days. I never meant…”

“Of course. I understand, sir. What chaps?”

“What?”

“Who recommended it to you?”

The Brigadier flushed and hesitated. “Actually, some damn foreigners. I should have known better. It was some trade delegation dinner; some awful Italian fellow was lathering on about it.”

Nick nodded as if this was unimportant and moved on.

“So you came here and you met Ramona straight away. How often did you see her?”

“Not much at first; once a week.” He stopped and swallowed heavily. “My God, my wife. I’m sorry, I can’t–”

“Sir, better we clear this up now. Your wife need never know from us if there’s not a fuss.”

“Of course. We started seeing each other more often. Dinner, shopping. I’ve been a damned old fool!” he suddenly exclaimed angrily, banging the table.

“Not at all. Ramona was a very attractive woman. One can see the attraction.” Nick glanced quickly around. The German and the Italian were muttering darkly, shooting evil glances in his direction. He wouldn’t have long. He kept one eye on the backstage curtain.

“Where else did you see her?”

“A month ago, I hired an apartment for us, started staying there a couple of nights a week, told the wife I was working overnight at the Ministry.” The man looked shamefaced. As well he might, shacked up with a young Spanish senorita while his wife was sat at home thinking he was working all hours for the good of the country.

“What’s the address?”

“It’s on Conway Street, on the corner, fifteen, ground floor,” he mumbled.

Nick nodded. It was close to here. Nice and convenient for the Brigadier for after the club.

“Did Ramona ever ask you about your work?”

“What are you suggesting? She was a sweet, innocent girl.”

“Nothing at all. I just have to cover off certain possibilities. You do work related to the War Office do you not?” Nick chanced his arm. He didn’t know this at all, but he’d guessed it and fished for it with Lucia. He saw he may have overplayed, though; the older man’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Nick more closely.

“I thought you said you were Special Branch? Surely you know what I do, Mr…?”

“Carruthers,” Nick replied. That would stir things up a bit. Carruthers wasn’t SB; he would be M11, but they’d all be confused. “Our brief is to watch out for you. We’re not privy to what you do, but it may have a bearing.”

The Brigadier nodded. “Yes, of course. Yes, I work for the War Office, planning and scenarios, new weapon development, all secret stuff, but Ramona didn’t know that. I was very obtuse. I’m not a complete fool.”

No, not a complete one, thought Nick. Instead, he asked, “Did she ever come to your office or your house where she could have seen anything she shouldn’t?”

“Certainly not! I object to that! I…” Then he stopped. “My God,” he said slowly.

“What?” Nick demanded urgently. He saw the German man stick his head behind the curtains. It was a clear breech of club protocol, but somehow Nick didn’t think that would matter to the German.

“In the last few weeks, my wife’s been away, I…” He hung his head. “I had Ramona round to the house a few times.”

“Could she have seen anything there she shouldn’t have? In your study? An office at home?” Nick enquired urgently.

“No! I don’t know. I mean, there was some stuff at home, but why would she be interested?”

“Could she have seen it and what could she have seen?” Nick wanted to shake the man.

“I suppose. There were plans, strategies, some schematics, a few things.” He trailed off as if the enormity of it hit him for the first time.

“You had top secret documents at home, in the open?” Nick asked incredulously.

“An Englishman’s house is his castle. They were safe. I’m sure neither she nor anyone else saw anything,” he said with an arrogant air of finality.

“Yet she’s dead,” Nick said tiredly, his patience expended, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “For God’s sake, man, what could she have had or seen that she would be killed for?”

“A few things. I need to go and check, I…”

Nick had stopped listening, the curtain had swished open and Lucia and the German were glaring at him.

“I’ll be in touch. Go! Now!” Nick pulled the man to his feet and propelled him towards the exit. “For God’s sake, go, as fast as you can!”

              The confused Brigadier blundered out towards the stairs and Nick whirled in time to intercept the pursuing Lucia. She was practically running down the floor of the club, one hand raised to stop the Brigadier. As he turned, Nick caught her hand and swept her backwards. On heels with Nick’s body cannoning into her, she lost her footing. Nick’s other hand slipped round the small of her back and caught her, holding her upright and sweeping her through one hundred and eighty degrees and back towards the rear of the club before she even registered what was happening. There was a cheer and another couple got up and began to dance alongside them, then another and another. Only Nick and Lucia weren’t dancing; she was desperately trying to pull away as he expertly manoeuvred her around the floor holding her tightly to him.

              “What are you doing?” she hissed in his ear. “Let me go!” She tried to pull her leading hand free of his but to no avail. He held her in a vice-like grip as the tiny dance floor started to fill with more swaying couples. Nick saw the German and Italian start to try and push their way through. He was suddenly aware of the soft heat of her body pressed against his. As she squirmed violently against him, Nick was surprised at how strong she was and could feel the lithe strength in her torso. Her amber eyes flashed in anger. Nick smiled.

“This is nice.”

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Dancing?” He manoeuvred her so that her back was to the two advancing men.

His heart sunk. Clara had come through the curtains and was glaring at him, at the pair of them. He felt a pang of guilt. It couldn’t look good. The German was nearly level with him. He gave a grimace of pain; Lucia had just kicked his shin hard. He let her go and moved sideways into the German with a bang.

“Oh, I am sorry!” he exclaimed, catching hold of the man. “Must have had a bit to drink.”

“Get off me!” exclaimed the man angrily, roughly trying to disentangle himself from Nick. Lucia now started to try and pull him away and back to her. He was glad of the other dancers or the three of them would have looked ridiculous. Nick trying to block the German’s path, Lucia having just pushed him away, attempting to pull him back, and the German struggling with them both now. Nick looked around desperately for the little Italian but could see him nowhere. As he bumped against the German again, he felt a hard shape under the man’s jacket. He just hoped that the Brigadier had jumped straight into a cab. He’d lost his concentration and the German cursed and gave a push that sent Nick flying heavily back into the arms of Lucia. Their bodies collided hard and Nick felt a shudder of delight as it became her turn to hold him tight. The German pushed past and was gone.

“So you want to dance?” Lucia smiled at him. At last, those full red lips, so full of promise, so close, smiled, the eyes flashed with Latin anger. She had a leg hooked around his, her arm in the small of his back, pulling him hard into her curves, her scent swam in his senses and for a moment he was lost as they swayed together.

              There was a sharp tug on his arm and Lucia released him; he spun and faced the cold stare of Clara. She looked at Lucia, already melting into the crowd, then at Nick, and shook her head slowly, fire dancing under the blue ice of her eyes. He knew what was coming even before her hand went up. The slap stung across his face. Seeing her walk away hurt stung him more. Nick stood for a moment and looked around. The people swayed and danced joyously around him, oblivious. Of the German, the Italian and Lucia there was no sign. He looked back at the swaying curtain where Clara had just disappeared and gave a sigh. He knew better than to try to talk to her tonight.

              He slowly mounted the stairs and picking up his hat and coat, headed outside into the cold blanket of fog that had thickened into a murky soup. He shrugged up his collar and started to walk. The Brigadier’s love nest on Conway Street was not far away at all.

CHAPTER 4

The damp seeped through the greatcoat like a lover’s cold embrace and by the time Nick skirted up Bolsover Street, along the deserted roads, his body had started to tremble with the beginnings of a shiver. The fog had thickened into the consistency of gruel, restricting his vision to a few feet of dark murk. The cold stung his lungs, each breath causing his chest to protest with a rasping pain. The time had slipped well past one while he’d been in the club and apart from the sound of the odd automobile in the distance, it was strangely silent save for the echo of his own footsteps. The further north he pushed, the darker it got, as the pale gas lamps became less frequent, until he was steering his way almost by instinct rather than by anything he could see.

              Nick paused. Had that been footsteps behind him? He shuffled against a nearby wall, ears straining, but he could hear nothing. Up ahead, Conway Street began. He strode to the street’s entrance, grinding his heels into the hard tarmac, then he abruptly stopped and craned his head, mouth slightly open to improve his hearing, but he could hear nothing except the rushing of blood in his head. Hugging the side of the road nearest the odd-numbered buildings, he paused at fifteen then as silently as he could, he slinked onwards where the road opened out into the faded grandeur of Fitzroy Square, where if anything, the fog had congealed in an even thicker cloud around the small central garden. A dark shape flitted through the fog ahead. Nick stopped. He could now see or hear nothing, but a cold sweat had begun to prickle at the back of his neck. The German was armed, if it was him, if it was anyone.

Nick squatted against the cold steel railings to reduce his silhouette and strained his eyes into the dark swirling murk until he had to blink to ease the watery burning in his eyes. Nothing. He slowly turned to look back at the street; it lay as quiet as if under a blanket of snow. Nick waited. He suddenly craved a cigarette, but resisted. If there was anyone out there, he didn’t want to be lighting up. He huddled against the railing for a measured fifteen-minute stretch that felt longer. Much longer. He could feel the wet had penetrated his coat and his trousers were sticky against his legs; as he stood, his leg muscles protested with jolts of fire through the fibres. He’d seen and heard nothing.

              Stretching to reduce the cramping, Nick hobbled back towards the corner of the building and fished in his trouser pocket for the skeleton picks he kept there. He cursed silently as his numb fingers at first ineffectually scrabbled at the cold metal then he found his grip and slowly inserted them into the front door lock. It sprung open without a sound. Nick had already notice the line of doorbells on the right of the door showing the house had been converted to flats. Clicking the door shut behind him, he peered around the small dark lobby. A piece of threadbare carpet that had seen better days lined the floor, some stairs led up to the higher level flats. There was no post lying around and the place at least looked clean.

              Nick pinged the flat’s front door open and stealthily moved inside. He entered a small entrance room with a table and two chairs, and not a lot else. Moving cautiously through the dark flat, it became apparent that as he’d suspected, someone else had already been there. The cupboards in the kitchen hung open, pots, pans and plates scattered over the floor. Nick’s shoes crunched on the broken crockery as he padded from the kitchen and bathroom into the single, large, main room.

              The room was dominated by a huge double bed. Nick felt slightly queasy as he imagined the Brigadier and Ramona lying in it. A large, dark wood wardrobe hung open, the few clothes from within scattered on the floor alongside other garments scattered from the battered chest of drawers. There was a large bureau with a wireless set and gramophone on top. Nick could see that the drawers had been forced. If anything had been in there, it was gone now. The only other item in the room was a small wooden bar, now lying sadly on its side in a pool of abandoned liquor. Nick shook his head and nudged his foot through the mess. Smiling he bent over to retrieve an unbroken bottle of Scotch. Uncorking it, he took a long slug. Closing his eyes for a minute, he delighted in the warmth spreading through him. He took another hefty swig and looked around the room again. The furniture was mid-range tasteful and he guessed perfect for an evening’s tryst rather than a place for a couple to live full-time.

              The carpet looked new. It was certainly thick and expensive. There had been some tasteful watercolours on the wall but they too lay smashed on the floor. A silk gown hung on the back of the door. Nick looked at the expensive silk undergarments lying around the floor. No wonder Ramona had needed money, unless the brigadier had provided it all. Having met him, Nick didn’t think that was likely. He idly wondered if Ramona had entertained anyone else in the flat, but pushed the thought away distastefully.

              Nick sat on the edge of the bed and scanned the room again, his mind working. The mattress had been flipped; the carpet was awry at the edges. Whoever had searched the place had done a good job. But how good? He took a good slug of the whisky and was tempted for a moment to flop back on the mattress and embrace the warmth flowing through him, then his eye was drawn back the bureau. Nick leapt up and crossed to the wireless set. The back had been pulled off. He turned to the gramophone set. Someone had obviously looked inside it but… He gently lifted the trumpet and felt inside the neck. His heart skipped a beat as his fingers touched rolled up paper. He started to tease it out with his finger then froze. A key rattled in the outer door’s lock. Nick looked around desperately as the door slammed and a key slotted into the flat’s front door. He was trapped.

Nick gripped the bottle of Scotch in his hand and moved behind the bedroom door as the front door shut. To his surprise, whoever it was flicked the lights on. Footsteps moved through the flat, a long shadow filled the door frame. There was a click as the lights were thrown in the bedroom. Nick held his breath. A figure entered the room.

              “What the…?” Nick’s breath blew out like a deflating balloon and he lowered the bottle as Lucia whirled at the sound of his voice, stepping back at the same time in shock. Her right hand dived at her small clutch bag, but she hesitated as she saw it was Nick. She quickly managed to replace the flicker of fear with a cold smile.

              “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” She looked at the mess scattered around the jumbled room. “You do this?”

              “No.” Nick stepped out from behind the door and advanced a pace towards her. She quickly backed up, banging against the bureau and this time her hand went in her clutch.

              “Don’t come any nearer,” she warned, the smile gone. Her eyes were hard.

              “Or what? You going to stab me?” Nick unplugged his Scotch and took another pull, watching her all the while.

              “Maybe I’ll shoot you.”

              “Maybe you will. But you’ll need a gun first and that bag’s not big enough for one. Not unless you’ve got a tiny twenty-two, but then you’d have to hit me right in the head first time to stop me. Besides, I’m not going to hurt you.”

              “I’m so glad you’ve put my mind at rest. Who says it’ll be you that does the hurting?” She pulled her empty hand free of the bag and clicked it shut emphatically. “Why’d you wreck the joint?”

              “I already told you, I didn’t.” Nick moved and sat on the bed. Lucia leaned back against the bureau and regarded him through narrow eyes. She reached for the bag, making Nick flinch. She regarded him with something like amusement and held a cigarette up with a smile.

“Usually, when I find a drunk man in a wrecked flat, it’s odds on he’s wrecked it.”

              “I’m not drunk,” he replied, as she exhaled a cloud of smoke and slipped the lighter back into her bag.

              “No. You’re just having fun. What are you doing here Mr…?”

              “Valentine. Nick Valentine. I might ask you the same thing. Why are you skulking about a dead girl’s flat in the middle of the night? And how come you let yourself in with a set of keys, Miss…?”

              “Navarro. Lucia Navarro. At least I have keys, Mr Valentine. I’m sure if I were to call the police they’d take a dim view of your breaking and entering. You know, I don’t believe you work for the War Office at all. Shall we see what the police say?” Her hand caressed the telephone receiver on the desk.

              Nick smiled. “We both know you’re not going to do that. I’m sure you’d have too many questions of your own to answer.”

Annoyance flashed across her face. “You know, your act wasn’t very convincing back at the club.”

              “Which one?”

              “The infatuated clerk trying to chat up the woman. Mind you, your dancing was lousy, too.”

              “Well thanks. So we going to dance around each other all night or are we going to level with each other?”

              She looked at him, eyes narrowed behind a veil of smoke as if weighing him up. “You got any of that Scotch left?”

              “Sure.” Nick held the bottle out and she crossed the room, all swaying hips beneath the long fur coat. She took a long swig and cast her eyes around the room again.

              “Okay. I heard Ramona was dead. I wasn’t surprised; she’d been acting strange, kind of scared the last few days. I knew about her and this officer and she’d told me about this place.” Lucia gestured around the room with one hand. “Experience has taught me it’s better to be prepared, so I lifted her keys one day and got a set cut. Just in case.”

              “How very convenient. Who else’s keys have you got?”

              She smiled. “A few people’s. You never know when you might need a bolt hole, or a place to lift some valuables from. Like I said, experience is a wonderful teacher.”

              Nick had a sudden thought, about his own apartment, but he kept quiet.

              “After you scared the Brigadier off, I thought I’d swing by here for a look, to see if I could pick anything up. Guess I was too late.”

              “I guess you were.”

              “Now…” She came and stood in front of him, proffering the bottle. “How about you?”

              “Someone hired me to look into Ramona’s death,” he lied. “The Brigadier told me about this place, so I thought I’d come take a look.”

              “Someone?”

Nick handed the bottle back and shrugged. “A concerned party. I can’t tell you who – client confidentiality and all that – but I would say, perhaps, another acquaintance of hers.” Nick looked at her without guile and could tell she wasn’t swallowing it. Then he didn’t believe her either.

              “And what have you found out?”

              “Not much. Ramona was having an affair with the Brigadier. I don’t think he did it. Maybe another jealous lover?”

              “Why did you tell the Brigadier to leave the club?”

              Because I didn’t want him to get caught up in this. He has a family and a reputation to uphold.”

              She gave a snort. “I see. That is very gallant. So why did you try and stop those men following him?”

              Nick gave a shrug, “They didn’t look very nice.”

              “Hmm!” She paced the room and crossed to the heavy wooden shutters that barred the window. “You know, Nick. I don’t think you’re being very honest with me at all.” She opened the shutter and gazed out into the night then turned to face him. “I don’t think you’re being honest at all.”

              Nick heard the front door open again and he shot a look of alarm at Lucia, shooting to his feet. She didn’t move.

              “I didn’t lock it,” she smiled.

Nick cursed and leapt for the door, her laughter ringing in his ears. He ran straight into the business end of a Luger pistol held by the blonde German man. The German shook a finger at him and pushed him back with the pistol.

              “Going so soon? Have a seat,” he snarled, shoving Nick heavily back onto the bed.

Nick flicked his eyes from the gun barrel over to the window. If looks could kill, Lucia would already be on the floor and dying. She gave an apologetic shrug and turned to close the shutter.

              “So, who is he?” the German asked, looking at Nick.

              “We’ve been through all that. Just get him to tell us what he was doing here and what he knows. What he told me I don’t believe for a minute.” She glided across the room to stand next to the man, looking bored already.

              “Okay, you heard her. Or am I going to have to start shooting?”

              “I already told her; I was hired by a friend of Ramona’s to look into her death. They didn’t think the police would take it so seriously, Ramona being the kind of girl she was.”

              “And what kind of girl was that, Mr Valentine?” asked Lucia.

              Nick gestured around the room. “The kind with a married lover and a love nest. Look, I don’t know who you people are or what your connection is, but I’m guessing that you killed her. Why?”

              The man smiled. It was a cruel twisting of the mouth and Nick noticed his thin lips. “We didn’t kill her, but like you we are anxious to know who did. Ramona had something of value, something that she’d taken from us and we’d very much like it back.”