Murders in the Blitz (7 page)

‘Can I have some paper to write notes on first?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got to get it straight before typing.’

Godfrey sent someone over with typing paper, copy paper, carbons and a shorthand notebook. At first progress was slow, but she soon had her observations sorted coherently and was recording it all. The task engrossed her until lunchtime. She had practically finished when someone called her from the door.

‘There’s someone to see you, miss.’

‘Did they give their name?’

‘No. It’s a bloke in uniform with a walking stick.’

Ah, the lovely major. What could he want? She took the last page out of the typewriter and into a folder. She’d get it in order later. Straightening her jacket and smoothing her hair, she went through to the front desk.

Major Parkes waited with his usual bright smile.

‘Hallo, Simon,’ said Eve. ‘Can I help you with something?’

‘Hello, Eve. I thought I’d find you here. How are you today? I’d have left a note at your digs, but I don’t know where you live.’

Eve smiled back, not divulging the information he was obviously seeking. Somehow she didn’t want to tell him. Maybe it was because she thought instinctively that her place was just a bit too scruffy for the dashing major; that he would consider her rooms pretty squalid.

‘Look,’ he continued. ‘I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. We could go somewhere in the West End. What do you say?’

How could she resist? Major Simon Parkes was asking her on a date. Eve had no qualms about Pete; he wouldn’t mind her taking the opportunity for a slap-up meal in town.

‘Why thank you, Simon, that would be lovely.’

‘Shall I come and pick you up then. About 7.30?’

‘No, it’s all right,’ said Eve. ‘I’ll come to the PRC. You don’t want to walk around too much on that leg.’

‘Actually, the medic told me to get as much exercise as possible. Though I admit it is tiresome sometimes. Right, I’ll see you there at 7.30. I look forward to it.’

Eve gazed as his tall, broad-shouldered figure passed through the sandbag corridor to the street. What a handsome bloke he is, she thought, and I’m going on a real date with him. Now she’d have to find something decent to wear.

At nearly seven o’clock Eve was still in a clothing panic. She’d put on the full black skirt that she had worn to the Palais, but the tight little top, though suitable for dancing, didn’t seem quite right for a smart restaurant up West. She delved deeper into the chest of drawers. I could do with some of Zoya’s stuff, she thought, at least for underneath. A rummage in the depths turned up a cream chiffon blouse. It was a bit old-fashioned and not in her normal style. She’d thought it was a mistake as soon as she bought it and had hardly worn it since. The collar came up high around her neck, in the style that Queen Mary wore and was fastened with tiny, fiddly buttons. But this seemed the best option for tonight and at least it had been expensive and wouldn’t let the major down.

She ironed the blouse carefully and put a short, boxy red velvet jacket over the top that Grace had given her when she was pregnant and despaired of wearing anything small again.

When ready she regarded herself in the full length mirror. Not too bad. It was a pity that her unruly red curls looked a bit wild, but they gave her character. A lick of mascara and bright lipstick finished her off and she felt ready to face the world. Little dented Eve Duncan’s confidence except for feeling unsure about her appearance.

Outside the PRC Eve experienced a surge of nerves that subsided as she opened the door. Ruth Archer was leaving her office.

‘Goodness,’ said Eve ‘You’re working late.’

Ruth didn’t reply, but regarded Eve blankly, taking in her attire. Eve remembered that she had something she wanted to ask Ruth, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. At that moment Simon Parkes came out of the room he slept in.

‘Ah, there you are, Eve. How lovely you look.’

Lovely, thought Eve, hardly. Ruth Archer gave an audible sniff and hurried towards the street door without a word.

‘Goodnight, Ruth,’ called Simon as the secretary slammed the door. ‘Jealous old cow. Come on. Let’s get going,’ he said, taking Eve’s arm in his free hand, his stick in the other. ‘We’ll get a taxi outside. It’s not raining, so there should be plenty about.’

In a couple of minutes they were in the back of a cab travelling to Mayfair. Eve felt a bubble of excitement. She longed to tell Mum and Dad about this. This was far from the kind of date Pete took her on, where a meal at a Lyons Corner House was the best she could expect.

Simon had chosen a French restaurant in Soho. He explained that he would have preferred to go to an Italian place, but many of the best Italian restaurants were closed when Italy entered the war in June, after Dunkirk, and the Italians were interned on the Isle of Man with other enemy aliens.

Eve had not eaten such delicious food in months. Rationing did not allow for a very exciting menu at home and anyway, Eve was not much of a cook. The red wine that Simon chose went to her head and she was laughing extravagantly at his jokes by the time they had finished their main course.

Simon started to talk about the war. ‘We need to get this thing over as soon as possible.’

‘How are we going to do that?’ asked Eve. ‘We don’t seem to be doing too well at the moment.’

‘No, we’re not. The only answer is to capitulate, as the Europeans have. Give in and get it over, or it could go on for years.’

Eve gasped and looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was listening. Luckily, the few occupied tables were some distance away.

‘You mustn’t say things like that, Simon! You’ll be arrested for treason, or defeatist talk.’

‘I know we’re not supposed to say these things, Eve. But I’m convinced surrender is the only answer. If we carry on like this, all that will happen is that more and more soldiers will die before we are defeated in the end anyway.’

‘You think it’s a foregone conclusion?’

‘Yes, pretty much. What chance have we, an isolated little island against the might of the German army?’

Eve was momentarily silent, shocked at his vehemence. ‘But won’t the Americans come and help us? They won’t let us go under. Surely they’ll rescue us eventually.’

Simon snorted derisively. ‘The Americans? They have absolutely no intention of coming into the war. They’ve no appetite for it. They’ve even passed a bill of neutrality. They won’t help us, why should they? It’s the worst thing that could happen. If the Americans enter the war it will only prolong it.’

‘I hope what you’re saying isn’t true. That’s awful.’

‘What’s the worst thing that can happen, Eve? If we surrender now the war will be over in days. No more soldiers will die and we can get back to normal life.’

‘Not quite normal, Simon. The streets will be seething with Nazis and swastikas everywhere, and we’ll have to do whatever they say. And all learn to speak German too, I expect.’

‘But there’ll be strong government, Eve. We’ll be prosperous again. Look what Hitler achieved in Germany. The man’s a genius.’

Eve’s head felt fuzzy. She couldn’t take in what Simon was saying, but she knew it was treasonous. Did he really believe what he was saying? Mr Churchill was sure that they could beat the Germans; they had to beat the Germans. Whatever Simon was proposing was unthinkable. His views were making her very uncomfortable indeed.

She remained silent and Simon seemed to have finished ranting. He subsided and talked of more trivial matters. Neither wanted a dessert so he ordered coffee, which they drank in subdued silence and Eve was glad when it was time to go home.

Simon made a clumsy move in the taxi that might have been an attempt to kiss her. With tact, Eve fended him off.

‘Thank you so much for a marvellous meal,’ she said, after the taxi had deposited them at the steps of the PRC. She turned to leave.

‘Won’t you come in for a bit?’ Simon asked plaintively.

‘No, I won’t tonight, Simon. I’m very tired and I’m busy tomorrow.’ Eve improvised wildly, hoping he couldn’t detect the panic she felt. She didn’t want to spend another minute with him until she had considered what he had been saying. It would take a night’s sleep to clear her head.

‘’Night, Simon.’ Eve pecked him on the cheek and turned away, leaving him frowning at the steps, looking like a thwarted little boy.

Don’t look at me like that, mate, she thought. I don’t like the way you were talking. How foolhardy of him to express his views to a woman he knew was working with the police. Didn’t he mind that she might go and tell her superiors about it tomorrow? Or was he so arrogant that he didn’t care?

Chapter Thirteen

Eve first called at Mr Drummond’s bakery on Friday morning. When she arrived at half past eight he was serving a long queue of customers. His stout arms were coated with flour and his reddened face showed signs of strain. The delicious scent of fresh baked bread came from the back.

Eve was tempted to offer help, but resisted the impulse. She knew he’d noticed her as she entered the shop and walked to the counter amidst protests from the waiting women, who thought she was queue-jumping - an offence which had joined the list of deadly sins.

‘Oi! Where’d you think you’re going, madam? There’s a queue you know.’

‘I’m not buying anything,’ explained Eve, ‘I’m here to ask Mr Drummond a question.’

The women parted reluctantly and allowed Eve through. She waited near the trays of buns for the rush to subside.

Eventually Drummond turned to her.

‘What d’you want? I told you I don’t know nothing.’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Drummond. I just had a question for you,’ said Eve.

‘Yea, Alf told me you was here yesterday. What is it then? I’ve got to bring more stock in. Haven’t time to waste rabitting.’

‘I’m sorry you haven’t found anyone to replace Zoya. I need to know if you noticed if she had any special male friends who came in to talk to her.’

Drummond pondered for a moment. ‘There was one bloke. Came in almost every lunchtime – sometimes bought a sandwich. Tall, fair bloke in uniform, very toffee nosed. He didn’t want to talk to the likes of me. Seemed pretty interested in Zoya, though.’

Major Parkes, thought Eve. What was he doing talking to Zoya? Perhaps it was PRC business. But why did he come so often? I’ll have to ask him when I go round this afternoon.

‘Thank you, Mr Drummond, that’s very helpful,’ said Eve as she left, ‘sorry to trouble you.’

Her next stop was the police station where she had a short meeting with Inspector Reed.

‘Thank you for the report, Miss Duncan, very concise and informative. Although your typing left something to be desired,’ he said with a twinkle.

‘Not really my area of expertise, sir,’ said Eve.

‘No, I can see that. Never mind, you’ve got down all the salient facts. Where are you now? Have you any idea at all of who may be involved in the murder?’

‘Not really, Inspector. I’ve got a notion, but I’d rather not tell you about it until things are clearer. Is that all right?’

Inspector Reed waved a casual hand. ‘Oh, certainly. There’s no rush, we’ll sort it out in time.’

Eve bridled at his lack of urgency. He was treating it as a trivial matter again.

‘I’ll get back to it if I may, sir. I want to find out who did this as soon as possible.’

‘Fine, fine, Miss Duncan. Off you go. Get back to your sleuthing.’

Eve left the office seething at the hint of mirth. She had been dismissed like a child sent to go outside to play.

Her fury had barely subsided when she presented herself at the PRC. She marched straight in as usual. The door to Simon Parkes’s office was closed. Just as well, she didn’t want to speak to him. After a gentle tap on the door, she popped into Ruth Archer’s office.

‘Hallo, Miss Archer,’ she said brightly, ‘can I have a word with you?’

Ruth Archer pushed aside the pile of files on her desk. She seemed relieved to see Eve and had forgotten her resentment of the evening before.

‘I could do with a break,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen so much paperwork. We’ve got a new bunch of refugees arriving any day. Some of them may be in the most dreadful state and need hospitalisation. I have to get their papers organised and find places for them.’

‘Oh, don’t they all come here?’

‘Goodness, no. I find lodgings for them, farms to work on, factory jobs, jobs in hospitals, anything really. The one’s that end up here are pretty useless or don’t want to work. I suppose they are the most traumatised and depressed ones. Zoya and Katya were exceptions and made themselves useful. What can I do for you?’

Eve sat opposite Ruth, taking the police notebook from her pocket. It made her feel confidently official and gave her something to do with her hands.

‘I went through Zoya’s things the other day. Did you know that she had a collection of expensive clothes?’

‘No, I had no idea. I wonder where she got them from. She can’t have had enough money to buy them herself. She didn’t earn much at Drummond’s and gave most of that to Katya. We ask the girls to help with their board where they can.’

‘Yes, I was wondering where the clothes came from too. I can only assume a boyfriend paid for them. Borys says he was Zoya’s lover, but I would hardly think that he could afford such things.’

‘Certainly not. We pay him, of course, but it’s only a pittance, as he gets board and lodging. I doubt if it’s more than enough to buy him cigarettes and the occasional beer. I thought he was sweet on Zoya, but I didn’t realise they were lovers. Are you sure?’

‘Oh, yes. I found him in tears after viewing the body; he told me then. And there was something else.’

‘Oh, yes?’ said Ruth arching her brows questioningly.

‘He knew that Zoya was pregnant and I hadn’t told him because I didn’t know myself until after the mortuary. He told me that you had given him that information.’

Ruth Archer’s well-plucked eyebrows rose comically, even further up her forehead.

‘Me! Certainly not. I didn’t know myself until yesterday when Major Parkes told me. Why would I have told Borys? It’s none of my business to pass on scandalous information. You would have thought that Zoya might have had more sense.’

Eve could see Miss Archer strongly disapproved of Zoya’s fall from grace. How on earth could the poor girl have managed, without the support of the father of her child, in a foreign country where she had no family and few friends? Borys was in no position to support a family. Even in normal times an unmarried mother had a terrible life, despised and scorned by society.

‘Well, someone must have told Borys. Do you think it might have been Major Parkes?’

‘It may well have been. That young man has a way of running off at the mouth.’

Eve gaped at her, surprised. Something about the major had annoyed Miss Archer. Evidently she didn’t like him at all. Perhaps that was why she had looked so scathing yesterday evening when Eve had come for him. It was not Eve, but her disapproval of Simon that had caused Ruth to sneer. She decided to confide in Miss Archer.

‘He was saying some odd things over dinner,’ she said. ‘It worried me as it was very contentious, even subversive.’

‘Oh, he told you his opinions about the war, did he? Yes, I’ve heard that too. It sounds treasonous to me. He thinks we should do anything we can to stop the Americans from coming into the war. He’ll be in trouble if anyone in security hears him talking like that.’

‘That’s what I said. But he didn’t seem to care.’

‘I expect he’s bitter about being wounded and not able to fight. He views running this place as a demotion. He feels he should be at the Front, playing the hero.’

‘He thinks we should surrender.’

‘God forbid. Then we’d have Nazis everywhere. No-one would be safe, especially anyone with Jewish blood, like me.’

‘That’s what I said,’ said Eve. ‘But I think he sees that as a good thing.’

Abruptly, Ruth yanked files towards her. ‘I’m sorry, this has been delightful, but I have to get on. Good luck with your investigations.’

With an apology for taking up Ruth’s time, Eve rose and turned to the door. So, Miss Archer knew about the major’s opinions on the war, but was prepared to ignore them. Eve wasn’t sure she could be so complacent. His views were dangerous.

Eve hurried towards the market. She hadn’t seen Charlie since the Palais on Wednesday and she had a lot to tell him. Soon they were huddled over cups of tea in the cafe, their heads together like conspirators.

‘Well, now we’re getting somewhere,’ Charlie said. ‘Let’s draw up a list of suspects.’

‘I don’t think there’s quite enough for a list yet, Charlie. I can only think of a couple.’

‘Well, there’s the hulk, Borys. He seems likely. Either he’s jealous and furious about the pregnancy because he thinks the baby is someone else’s or he was angry at Zoya going out with the rich geezer who gave her all the fancy tat.’

‘But he was distraught about her death, and the baby.’

‘Yeah, well. Then there’s Major Parkes. He’s obviously got the money to be the boyfriend. But why would he suddenly decide to murder her? What had she done wrong?’

‘Maybe she told him the baby was his and was going to inform his family or his superiors and he’d get into trouble.’

‘Doesn’t really seem a good enough reason to kill the poor girl does it? Anyway, I thought you said he was a nice bloke.’

Eve sighed regretfully. ‘Yes, I thought he was. He’s bloody good-looking and quite a charmer. But he has some very funny ideas about the war. He thinks we should surrender to the Germans right away to stop the war going on any longer.’

Charlie’s face formed an expression of outrage. For a man who’d do anything to avoid fighting, he still professed patriotism.

‘Did he just? The blighter! I’d knock him down if I heard him say anything like that to my face. Surrender to the Jerries? Not likely.’

Eve laughed. ‘Don’t be daft, Charlie, you know you wouldn’t. You’re more likely to salute him and say ‘yes, sir’. Look, I want to go round to Mr Weissmann’s shop and ask him something. Do you want to come with me?’

Charlie agreed and they finished their tea and walked to the pawn shop. The bell on the door tinkled as they entered the dusty darkness. Items left behind in return for cash festooned the walls and shelves. Musical instruments covered one wall, pawned by jobless musicians until they found the next gig. Some of them looked as if they had been there for years, forgotten and forlorn. Mr Weissmann, with a jewellers’ loupe in his eye, was seated at the counter polishing rings. He looked up as they entered.

‘What can I do for you young people? An engagement ring? A nice little present?’

‘Thank you, Mr Weissmann, no, we’ve come about something else.’

‘How can I help you, my dear?’

‘I saw something recently that I was curious about. It was an inscription on the back of a silver cigarette case. It looked like this,’ Eve handed him a scrap of paper on which she had crudely drawn the motif on Simon Parkes’s cigarette case.

The pawnbroker scrutinised it. ‘Is that supposed to be an eagle?’

‘Yes, sorry, I’m not very good at drawing.’

‘Don’t worry, my dear, I’ve seen worse. It looks like a military emblem; some regiment perhaps. I’m not sure. I’ll ask some people I know who are acquainted with such things. Come back later and I’ll let you know what I’ve found out. Are these the owner’s initials, P.J.?’

‘No, apparently not. They must mean something else.’

‘Well, my friends may know about that too. Later, child, come and see me later.’ With a wave he dismissed them from the shop.

‘That wasn’t much use,’ said Charlie outside.

‘Oh, it’ll be fine. I expect someone will know what it is. It may not be important anyway. It’s probably just his old school crest. Let’s go and find some lunch.’