The Stratford Murder

by Mike Hollow

  He paused, expecting the conventional polite acceptance of his apology, but the woman simply stared at him, her face impassive.

  ‘May I ask your name?’ he continued.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It’s Lewis, Mrs Audrey Lewis.’

  ‘I’m calling in connection with Miss Joan Lewis, and I believe she lives here. Is that correct?’

  The woman’s voice was as expressionless as her face. ‘No.’

  Jago produced the identity card from his pocket. ‘This document says she does.’

  She took the card from him and gave it a cursory glance. ‘Well, this document’s wrong then, isn’t it? She moved out of here three weeks ago. And before you tell me, yes, I’m aware that she’s supposed to notify the authorities, although whether she did I have no idea. Knowing her, she’s probably been too busy out dancing or partying to go and get it changed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t even know where the National Registration Office is. Not the most responsible of women.’

  She folded the card shut and handed it back to him.

  ‘And another thing,’ she added. ‘She’s not Miss Joan Lewis. She’s Mrs Lewis, and she’s only related to me by marriage. She’s my son’s wife.’ She paused, then added with what seemed like a hint of distaste, ‘I’m her mother-in-law.’

  ‘I see, thank you,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry, but the cards don’t give marital status. May we come in?’

  She nodded briefly and admitted them to the house, then showed them into the living room. It was comfortably furnished, but she didn’t invite them to sit.

  ‘I’m afraid we have some difficult news,’ Jago began. ‘You might like to take a seat.’

  For the first time, a hint of emotion crossed her face. ‘It’s not about Richard, is it?’

  ‘Richard?’

  ‘My son, Richard.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. It’s about your daughter-in-law.’

  The flash of concern that had illuminated Mrs Lewis’s face faded, and she sat down. Jago and Cradock followed suit.

  ‘What is it?’ she said.

  ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but your daughter-in-law was found dead this morning in a flat in Carpenters Road.’

  She nodded slowly, as if taking the news in.

  ‘Dead?’ she repeated flatly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m afraid she’d been strangled.’

  ‘Strangled? You mean someone killed her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. ‘But why would anyone want to do that?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. Can you think of anyone who might’ve wished her harm?’

  ‘Of course not. She’s a foolish young woman, but that’s no reason for someone to strangle her. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘What do you mean when you say she was foolish?’

  ‘You know, typical of the young girls of today, I suppose – flighty, irresponsible, more interested in dressing up and putting on make-up and having a good time than in buckling down to some hard work and taking life seriously.’

  ‘You mentioned your son, Richard. Would he be her husband?’

  ‘Yes, he’s my only son.’

  For the first time her expression softened. She stood up and crossed the room to the mantelpiece, on which a framed photograph of a man in military uniform stood beside the clock. She brought it back and handed it to Jago.

  ‘That’s Richard. He’s twenty-six now, and in the Territorial Army – he volunteered last year, before the war started.’

  ‘Can you tell me where I can contact him? We’ll obviously need to speak to him as soon as possible.’

  She replaced the picture on the mantelpiece, tracing her hand across the frame in an almost imperceptible caress.

  ‘That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s not what you think. I’m sure he’s alive – it’s just that he’s been reported missing, so we don’t know where he is. He’s serving in the Queen Victoria’s Rifles, a Territorial Army motorcycle battalion. They were particularly keen to recruit well-educated young men who were already experienced motorcycle riders. He’s always loved motorbikes, you see, and he had one of his own until he went away. It was a BSA, I think, and he paid nearly forty pounds for it. He was always down at the stadium in Custom House, watching the speedway racing. He said he’d be back there as soon as he got some leave, but I believe they’ve closed it down now because of the war …’ Her voice faded away, and she seemed to be lost in thought about him.

  ‘Went away?’ said Jago.

  ‘His unit was sent out to Calais to defend it against the Germans when the army was retreating in France.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘He left on the twenty-first of May. We had a telegram later, saying he was missing. I saw in the paper that an officer from his battalion who’d been missing had now been reported a prisoner of war, but Richard isn’t an officer, he’s just a private, so it isn’t him. I expect that’s what’s happened to him, though – either he’s a prisoner of war and we’ll find out soon, or he’s escaped. There was something else in the paper about one of the men being captured by the Germans but escaping and rowing back to England in a dinghy. That’s the kind of thing Richard would do – he’s fit, and very resourceful, and he can speak some French too. He’s a young man of great ability, with a successful future ahead of him. His father would have been very proud of him.’

  ‘His father?’

  ‘Yes. That’s him there.’

  She gestured to a second photograph on the opposite side of the clock to her son’s, then walked over to it and handed it to Jago.

  ‘That’s my late husband, Charles.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jago, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector. He passed away the year before last – just before Christmas 1938. It was a heart attack, out of the blue. The doctor said he wouldn’t have known a thing – it would’ve been like switching off a light. A mercy, really.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘He was a good husband, and our son takes after him in that respect. Charles was a self-made man who started with nothing but ended up a very successful businessman and an investor, very good with money. He always provided for us as a family, and thanks to him I’m glad to say I have no financial worries – not something a lot of widows can say these days, unfortunately.’

  She took the photograph frame from Jago, replaced it carefully on the mantelpiece and fell silent again. Reaching for a silver cigarette case that was sitting beside the photograph, she took out a cigarette and then waved the case in Jago’s direction.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector,’ she said, ‘I didn’t offer you a cigarette. Would you like one?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said.

  She glanced at Cradock, extending the case vaguely towards him, but he declined with a shake of his head. She lit her own cigarette and slowly exhaled a stream of blue smoke.

  ‘Your daughter-in-law, Joan, Mrs Lewis,’ Jago continued. ‘You said she moved out of here three weeks ago. So was that flat in Carpenters Road her new home?’

  ‘I expect so, yes. What I mean is I don’t know the address, but it was in Carpenters Road. I haven’t been to visit her yet.’

  ‘So when did you last see her?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably when she moved out.’

  ‘Can you tell me why she moved out?’

  ‘She just wanted a place of her own, I think.’

  ‘Does she have any next of kin apart from your son? Parents? Brothers or sisters?’

  ‘She doesn’t have parents. She has one sister, a girl called Beryl. Beryl Hayes, I expect, if she isn’t married yet. I don’t know her address, but she works at the cinema, like Joan.’

  ‘So Joan worked at the cinema?’

  ‘That’s what I said, Inspector.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘When she was living here she worked at the Br
oadway Super, but since she left I’ve heard that she’s been at the Regal, in Stratford High Street.’

  ‘What was her job?’

  Audrey Lewis paused as she drew on her cigarette, and Jago caught a fleeting impression of disdain in her voice when she replied.

  ‘She was what I believe is called an “usherette”. What a ridiculous word.’

  ‘Just one last question, Mrs Lewis. Would you be willing to come to the mortuary and identify the body?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to, if you don’t mind. I’ve been under some considerable nervous strain since Richard went missing, and I don’t think visiting a mortuary would be good for me. Could you possibly ask her sister? I’ll do it, of course, if she can’t, but that would be my preference.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll bear that in mind. Just one last question before we go, if you don’t mind. Can you tell me what kind of wedding ring your daughter-in-law wore?’

  ‘Yes, it was just a simple thin golden one, and I think her engagement ring’s gold too, with a small square emerald. Why do you ask?’

  ‘We’re just collecting information at this stage, Mrs Lewis. We’ll be on our way now. Thank you for your time, and I hope you get some good news about your son soon.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector. You’re most considerate.’

  She showed them to the door, cigarette in hand, and Jago heard it click behind them as soon as they left.

  ‘Where to now, sir?’ said Cradock as he closed the garden gate behind them.

  ‘To the Regal,’ said Jago. ‘We need to find this sister, Beryl.’

  ‘Right. Odd about the rings, isn’t it? Why did you ask her about them?’

  ‘Simply because it turns out she was married, and you don’t expect a married woman not to be wearing rings. I don’t want anyone in the family to know just yet that she wasn’t wearing them when we found her, but I’d like to find out why.’

  ‘There’s one obvious possibility, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes? And what’s that?’

  ‘Well, like we were saying at the flat – maybe she was on the game. Her husband’s away somewhere, maybe hiding in France, maybe a prisoner in Germany, maybe even dead, and she’s moved into a little flat. She wouldn’t want to keep her rings on, would she? Maybe she takes them off when she’s working, as you might say.’

  ‘Possibly, but we’re only guessing. There could be a perfectly legitimate explanation – perhaps she was meeting someone for some entirely innocent reason and didn’t want them to know she was married. Maybe she’d lost them. Maybe she was hard up and had pawned them for a few days. It may be of no significance at all.’

  ‘Can I ask another question?’

  ‘Of course. What is it?’

  ‘You didn’t ask Mrs Lewis whether she knew Joan was expecting.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, I just wondered why.’

  ‘Work it out for yourself. She’s been pregnant for twelve weeks and her husband’s been out of the country for five months, so it’s clearly not his child, and from what we’ve seen of Audrey, I don’t think Joan would’ve confided in her. In fact, it wouldn’t be surprising to find she hadn’t told anyone. If it’s a secret and we reveal it, it’ll be common knowledge before you can say Jack Robinson. I think I’d rather wait for a bit and see if anyone tells us – I’d like to know who knew the secret before we did.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Regal cinema on Stratford High Street, near the Black Bull pub, was an eye-catching building in the bold art deco style favoured by some of the big cinema companies. The front entrance boasted a row of fully glazed steel doors, their glass still intact, and as Jago pushed one open he was struck by how heavy it was. The whole place had an air of elegance, and inside it was lavishly decorated. No wonder they were called picture palaces, he thought: the owners seemed to have gone all out to impress.

  A uniformed page boy who looked about fourteen greeted them politely. Informed by Jago that he and Cradock were from the West Ham CID and wished to see the manager, the boy led them across the entrance hall and past the pay box to a plain, unmarked door. He knocked on it and waited until bidden to open it by an authoritative voice sounding faintly from inside, whereupon he announced them, showed them in and scuttled away.

  The room was spacious and well furnished in the modern style, but with no windows. To Jago it looked more like a wealthy person’s living room than an office, with a sofa and matching armchairs upholstered in leather, a coffee table and framed paintings offsetting the more conventional filing cabinets and desk.

  The desk, like the room, was imposing and of contemporary design, uncluttered by anything except a blotting pad, inkstand and telephone, and it was from behind this desk that a man rose to greet them. To Jago’s eye he was too young to be the manager of a showpiece cinema, but the only other person in the room was a woman of similar age seated behind a typewriter on a smaller and cheaper desk in the corner, which he took as a signal that she was a subordinate.

  ‘Good morning,’ said the man, approaching them with an outstretched right hand with which he gripped Jago’s firmly. ‘My name’s Sidney Conway, and I’m the manager here. And this,’ he added, waving his other hand in the direction of the woman, ‘is my secretary, Miss Carlton, although I’m sure she won’t mind if you call her Cynthia, will you, Cynthia?’

  Miss Carlton rose and nodded briefly to the visitors, giving a half-smile which suggested an unspoken appeal for patience with her boss’s patronising style.

  Conway looked about twenty-five at the most and was dressed in a well-cut double-breasted suit in navy serge with a chalk stripe. His hair was oiled and his black shoes spotless. Flash Harry, thought Jago. It had not escaped his attention that among the paintings on the wall there was also a mirror, and he wondered which of the two colleagues using this office made more use of it. Cynthia Carlton seemed to take care of her appearance too: heavily made up, she wore a tightly tailored suit of jacket and skirt in a lighter shade of blue than the manager’s, and matching two-tone high-heeled shoes. Her hair was immaculately styled, but nevertheless she kept touching it at the back and sides as if to check that it was still in place.

  ‘Welcome to the Regal,’ said Conway, the roughness of his voice in striking contrast with the quality of his tailoring. ‘Regal by name, regal by nature, that’s what we say here. Isn’t it, Cynthia?’ The secretary gave another weak smile. ‘We may not be the biggest cinema in West Ham, but I think I can confidently say we’re the finest, and we’re going places. Did you know there are thirty-five cinemas in this borough, Inspector?’ He raised his eyebrows to accompany the question but continued without waiting for a reply. ‘Or at least there were, until the air raids started. There’ll be fewer than that now, but that means less competition, so it’s not all bad news – especially since the Broadway Super down the road copped it. I don’t mind telling you I’ve got big plans for this place. Fortune favours the brave, eh? That’s what they say. There’s a whole world out there, and if you want it, it’s all there for the taking. We’re living in difficult days, but when our patrons step through our doors we offer them a dream, something better than their real life – glamour for people whose life is a misery.’

  All that and a choc-ice too, thought Jago, but his face remained attentive.

  ‘If I had my way, of course, I’d be making the movies, not showing them. I’m a very good photographer, so film’s the logical next step. Hollywood, that’s the place to be. It’s just a pity it’s a bit tricky getting over there these days, what with the U-boats and all.’

  He paused for a moment, as if checking back over what he’d just said.

  ‘But don’t get me wrong,’ he added swiftly. ‘I’d much sooner be out there somewhere doing my bit in the forces. Truth is, I failed the medical. Spot of heart trouble, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes, grade four, they said, totally unfit for military service. But luckily it’s not enough to stop
me running the best cinema in town and bringing a real benefit to our community. We’re here to serve, just like you and your colleagues in the police. Which reminds me … thank you for coming so promptly. I really didn’t expect to see you that quickly.’

  ‘You were expecting us?’

  ‘Well yes, of course.’

  ‘So you’ve heard about Mrs Lewis already?’

  Conway looked puzzled. For the first time in their conversation, it seemed to Jago, the man was listening to a voice other than his own.

  ‘Mrs Lewis? You mean Joan? No, I haven’t heard anything. What do you mean?’

  ‘I understand Mrs Lewis is an employee here. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, she’s one of our usherettes. She used to work at the Broadway Super, and I gave her a job here when it was bombed. I couldn’t take on many of them, but Joan was outstanding.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Conway, but I have some bad news for you. I’m afraid Joan Lewis has been killed.’

  Conway stared at him, as though straining to understand what Jago had said. His mouth began to form a word, but no sound came out. He walked slowly back to his chair behind the desk and slumped into it. It seemed to Jago that the man’s air of aggressive confidence had slipped off him like an unfastened cape.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘That’s shocking. She was here on duty only last night. And I thought you were here because … but no, this is much more important. What happened?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say she’s been murdered.’

  His face registered shock and then puzzlement, in rapid succession.

  ‘Murdered? But that’s dreadful. Who’d want to murder Joan? She’s such a sweet soul.’

  Jago heard a sniff coming from the corner of the room, and on looking round he noticed a distressed expression on Cynthia’s face.

  ‘It’s a shock for Cynthia too,’ said Conway. ‘I believe she’s known Joan for a long time, since before Joan came to work here. Isn’t that right, Cynthia?’

  Cynthia nodded, but did not speak.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Miss Carlton,’ said Jago.