by Mike Hollow
‘Do you have any idea who did it, Inspector?’ Conway asked.
‘No, not yet. But there’s something you can help us with. We want to speak to Joan’s sister, Beryl Hayes. I believe she works here too.’
‘That’s right – she’s an usherette, like Joan. She’s not due in until later, but I’ll send for her. Cynthia, get one of the pages to go round to Beryl’s flat and ask her to come in immediately. And tell Bert Wilson to come in here too.’
‘Yes, Mr Conway,’ said Cynthia.
There was an unmistakeable quavering in her voice, and Jago noticed that she didn’t look up as she left the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It took some time for Conway to compose himself. As soon as Cynthia had gone he took a bottle from an anonymous-looking piece of office furniture behind his desk that proved to be his drinks cabinet and poured himself a Scotch. He raised the bottle before his two visitors by way of an invitation to them to partake too, but Jago declined for both of them.
‘You said you were expecting us, Mr Conway, but it wasn’t to do with this unfortunate incident,’ Jago began. ‘May I ask why you were expecting a visit from the police?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Conway replied, ‘although it hardly seems important now. The thing is, you see, we’ve been robbed. And actually it is important, because we’ve lost a lot of money. I don’t know who did it, but I’ve got a pretty good idea when. It seems we had a break-in overnight.’
‘Perhaps you could give me the details while we wait for Miss Hayes to arrive.’
‘Certainly. You’d better hear what Bert Wilson has to say too – that’s why I’ve sent for him. He’s one of our doormen and he was here overnight. Normally there’d be no one in the building after we close up, but of course nowadays we have a fire-watchers’ rota – members of staff take it in turns. He’ll know more than me about what happened. But what I do know is that the takings have gone. Come and see.’
He took Jago and Cradock to the door through which they had entered his office.
‘You may not have noticed when you came in,’ Conway continued, ‘but you can see here where a bit of the door frame’s splintered away on the inside next to the lock. There are some marks on the outside too, but the damage is mostly on this side. It looks as though someone’s jemmied their way in, doesn’t it? The lock’s not very strong, because we keep anything of value in the safe.’
‘Have you found any signs of forced entry into the cinema itself?’ asked Jago.
‘No. I’ve had a good look round and haven’t seen anything to suggest that.’
‘Who had keys to the building?’
‘Apart from myself, of course, only Cynthia, who keeps a spare set. Then we have one set that we issue to the duty fire-watcher, which on this occasion was Wilson.’
Conway took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the back of a chair, then took the two men back across to the other side of the office, where he opened a door that gave access to a corridor.
‘Take a look in there,’ he said.
Jago could see that this door bore signs of forced entry too. Beyond it, the corridor was dark, with no windows, and when he flicked the electric light switch nothing happened.
‘Lights are busted,’ Conway explained.
In the gloom Jago could see a mess of unidentifiable debris on the floor. Taking out his flashlight, he spotted two further doorways, one on either side of the corridor. The door on his left was no longer attached to its frame but instead had fallen at an angle against the opposite wall. He looked back at Conway.
‘The one on the right’s a storeroom,’ said the manager. ‘On the left is where we keep the safe. If you go in you can see we’ve had visitors.’
Jago entered the room on the left, followed by Cradock and Conway, and surveyed the scene. The safe was at the far end, and the space in front of it was littered with tatters of paper and cardboard, all covered in dust and lumps of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling.
‘It used to be where we kept our confidential files too,’ said Conway with a sigh. ‘Looks like a bomb’s hit it, doesn’t it? But not a German one this time, I reckon.’
Jago stepped through the mess to what appeared to be its source. The door on the safe was about as useless as the one that had hitherto secured the room. It hung drunkenly open on one hinge. The safe was empty except for a few manila envelopes. He glanced around the floor and bent down to pick something up.
‘I think this probably explains it,’ he said, showing it to Cradock and Conway. It was a waxed paper wrapper with the words ‘Polar Ammon Gelignite’ printed on it. ‘Do you know how much money’s been stolen?’
‘Yes, it was our weekend takings, so it would’ve been more than three hundred pounds. Mostly coins, of course, and a few used notes, so quite heavy for the thieves to carry away, but I imagine they’d have had the time to do that in the night. During the week I bank the takings every day – I just put the cash into a stout bag and take it down to the National Provincial with one of the doormen with me for protection, but of course the banks aren’t open on Sundays, so on Monday mornings I’m banking the whole weekend’s takings, for Saturday and Sunday. That must be why they chose to break into the safe last night.’
‘Was there anything else of value in the safe?’
‘There were a few bits and pieces, like contracts and other legal documents, as well as some private correspondence, but that’s what’s in those envelopes, so the thieves can’t have been interested in them. They only took the cash, and it was lucky I didn’t have the staff’s wages in there. There was one other little thing in there that was mine, though, and they seem to have taken it. It’s just a brown envelope with some personal papers inside. I’d be grateful to have it back, if you manage to recover it.’
‘We’ll keep it in mind, sir.’
They heard the office door open and Cynthia’s voice.
‘Bert’s here, Mr Conway.’
‘OK, bring him in, then go and wait outside until Beryl gets here.’
Conway went back into the main office, followed by Jago and Cradock. Bert Wilson looked about the same age as Conway but was taller. He was a burly, fair-haired man with a healthy, good-looking face, and the sports jacket and flannels that he was wearing didn’t obscure his athletic build.
‘This is Bert Wilson, Inspector,’ said Conway. ‘As I said, he’s one of our doormen. You’ll be familiar with them – mostly their job’s to keep the queues under control and be a bit of handy muscle if there’s any trouble in the cinema, or one of the patrons tries it on with the usherettes, that sort of thing. And chucking out anyone who tries to sneak in without paying, of course.’ He looked askance at Wilson’s jacket. ‘He’ll be changing into his uniform later, and then he’ll look the part rather more than he does at the moment. Bert’s someone else I took pity on when the Broadway Super got bombed, like poor Joan. I expect he’d have been out of work if I hadn’t. Isn’t that right, Bert?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said meekly. ‘But Mr Conway, what’s happened to Joan? Cynthia said she’s—’
‘Not now, Bert. She’s been killed – I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘But—’
‘Not now, I said. The inspector’s a busy man, and he wants to know about our break-in last night. I’ve told him you might know something, so I want you to answer his questions. I hope this won’t take long, Inspector – we’ve got a lot of clearing up to do today.’
‘I shall be as quick as I can, Mr Conway. Now, Mr Wilson, tell me what you know.’
‘Well,’ said the doorman, ‘I was up on the roof when the second air raid started. That was at half past eleven – I know, because I have to keep a log. By about a quarter to midnight the bombing was getting heavier, and there was lots of noise, and explosions, and fires starting. But I was sure I heard one blast from under my feet, in the cinema. I thought we’d been hit, but I was on the roof, so if a bomb had gone down through it I would’ve known – or else
I wouldn’t be here talking to you. I went clattering down the ladder and two blokes grabbed me from behind, tied me up and gagged me. Mr Conway found me when he came in this morning.’
‘So you think the noise you heard was the safe being blown?’
‘Yes. Obvious, isn’t it? If you’re going to blow a safe, what better time to do it than in the middle of an air raid? No one’s going to notice another explosion with all that racket going on, unless they happen to be in the building – or on the roof.’
‘These men who attacked you, did they say anything?’
‘No, they didn’t speak to me, just grunted a bit as they tied me up.’
‘Not a word?’
‘Well, one of them did – he just said something like shut up and keep still and you won’t get hurt. But that was all.’
‘Could you identify either of them?’
‘No. They got me from behind, so I didn’t see them.’
‘So it wasn’t necessarily two men. It could’ve been a man and a woman, for example?’
‘Yes, but safe-breakers are always men, aren’t they? Anyway, I didn’t stand a chance of seeing them. I had my torch, but they jumped me in the dark and knocked it away. I reckon I know when they blew the safe, though. I heard that odd explosion at exactly fourteen minutes to midnight, you see. I made a note in my log before I came down from the roof – it should still be up there. So that’s obviously when the safe was blown, isn’t it?’
‘I think the inspector would prefer to draw his own conclusions about when the safe was blown, Wilson,’ said Conway. ‘Do you have any other questions for my doorman, Inspector?’
‘No, that will do for the time being. Thank you, Mr Wilson.’
‘In that case cut along now, Wilson, there’s a good fellow. I’m sure you’ve got things to do. Oh, and one more thing – those boots of yours need polishing before the patrons arrive.’
Wilson gave the slightest of nods to Conway and left the room.
‘It’s the little details that count, you know, Inspector. One pair of scuffed boots can make a whole business look slipshod,’ said Conway. ‘I run a tight ship, but I like to think it’s a happy ship.’
The door opened and Cynthia Carlton came into the office.
‘I’ve got Beryl here, Mr Conway. Shall I bring her in?’
Conway looked at Jago. ‘Would you like to speak to Miss Hayes now, Inspector?’
‘In a moment,’ said Jago. ‘First I have to ask you where you were last night – it’s simply a technicality, since you’re a keyholder.’
‘That’s simple. I got home by about ten or ten-thirty, and after that I was trying to get some sleep in my Anderson shelter in between the air raids.’
‘Can anyone vouch for that?’
‘No, I was alone.’
‘And you, Miss Carlton. Where were you?’
‘Me? Why are you asking me?’
‘Mr Conway’s told me that you keep a set of keys to the cinema, so I’m afraid I have to ask you.’
‘Well, if you must know, I was at home too – and I was alone.’
‘Thank you. Perhaps you could bring Miss Hayes in now.’
Cynthia slipped out of the door and returned with a young woman dressed in a maroon uniform of skirt and jacket trimmed with gold braid. Jago noticed that her eyes looked red, as if she’d been crying.
‘Now, Beryl,’ said Conway, ‘Inspector Jago just wants a brief word with you.’
‘I know,’ said Beryl. ‘Cynthia’s just told me. She said Joan’s been murdered.’
Beryl pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pushed her face into it as she burst into tears. Conway moved to comfort her, but Cynthia placed herself between him and Beryl, putting her arms round the distressed woman and holding her. Beryl seemed to struggle to control her crying, but eventually she pulled herself away a little from Cynthia to face Conway.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Conway, I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just a terrible shock. It’s all right, though, I won’t miss my shift – I’ve put my uniform on, because I didn’t know whether there’d be time to go home and change before I start, and I knew you wouldn’t want to be left one usherette short. I won’t let you down.’
Jago thought Conway wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, so he stepped in.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Hayes. I just need to ask you a few questions. Please accept my condolences on your sad loss. This must be very difficult for you.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘But how could it happen? It doesn’t make sense. Who’d want to kill Joan?’
‘We don’t know yet, but we’ll endeavour to find out. I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Miss Hayes, but would you be able to come with us and identify the body?’
‘Yes, of course.’
She began to cry again and thrust her face back into Cynthia’s shoulder.
‘Mr Conway,’ Jago continued, ‘when we’ve done that, I’d like to come back and have a word with Miss Carlton, if that’s all right.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Conway.
‘And I think it would be a good idea if Miss Hayes had the rest of the day off. Don’t you?’
‘Oh, er, yes, of course. Just what I was going to suggest.’
‘Very well. I’ll take her home when we’ve finished at the mortuary.’
Conway nodded quickly. ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘And just one last question before we go,’ said Jago. ‘You said Joan was on duty here last night. Is that the last time you saw her?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘What time did she go off duty?’
‘Well, the evening programme finishes at nine o’clock nowadays, because of the bombing, and normally once all the patrons have gone Joan and the other usherettes go round pushing the seats up if they’ve been left down and emptying the ashtrays, that sort of thing. But last night Joan said she wasn’t feeling very well, so I said she could slip away as soon as the national anthem finished. I mean, I wasn’t going to keep her back, was I? Some people say I’m a hard taskmaster, Inspector – that all I care about is filling this place every day and making money – but they’ve got me wrong. Yes, I run a tight ship, and if people don’t like it they can get out, but I care about my girls, you know. I see my job as being like a … like a … well, not a father, I’m obviously too young to be that, thank the Lord, but a big brother – someone who’ll keep an eye out for their welfare. I like to think I look after my girls – I always try to be sensitive to their needs.’
Jago thought he heard Cynthia snort, but when he looked at her, she was staring blankly over Beryl’s head, her face betraying no identifiable emotion. It was only when he announced that it was time to go that she released Beryl from her grasp.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a little after half past ten when Jago and Cradock returned Beryl to her lodgings in Cross Street, just off the northern end of West Ham Lane. On seeing Joan’s lifeless body in the mortuary she had stood as if frozen, with only a silent inclination of her head to confirm that this was her sister. On the short journey back she had barely spoken, but when they reached her home she gave a faint smile and thanked them.
‘Would it be all right if we asked you a few questions?’ said Jago.
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure it’s your duty.’
She took a key from her handbag and opened the front door. Inside, the narrow hall was gloomy, and blocked by a hard-faced middle-aged woman with her arms folded intimidatingly across her chest.
‘Hello, Mrs Jenks,’ said Beryl in a tired voice. ‘These gentlemen just want to have a word with me.’
‘You know the rule, Miss Hayes. No gentlemen visitors in your room.’
‘My landlady,’ said Beryl, turning to Jago and raising her eyebrows slightly. She turned back to the woman barring their way.
‘These are police officers, Mrs Jenks.’
Jago extended his warrant card for the landlady’s inspection, and she steppe
d aside.
‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘But don’t get any ideas, young lady. I’m not having any funny business going on under my roof. It’s bad enough you coming in at all hours of the day and night – I don’t know what the neighbours must think.’
‘But it’s my job, Mrs Jenks. If you work at a cinema you have to come home late in the evening.’
‘That’s as may be, but this is a respectable house, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. They can have ten minutes, and then they’re out, or you’re out with them.’
Beryl led Jago and Cradock past Mrs Jenks and up the stairs, where she opened a brown-painted door.
‘This is my room,’ she said. ‘Do go in. As you can see, there’s hardly the space for any funny business to go on, whatever she means by that.’
It didn’t take long for Jago to survey the contents of her bed-sitting room. A single divan with a pink candlewick bedspread was ranged along one wall, with a wardrobe at its foot. On the opposite side of the room stood a chest of drawers, a small table with two chairs, and an easy chair with threadbare arms. The fireplace housed an antique-looking gas fire, and on the floor beside it a dented aluminium kettle was perched on a gas ring.
‘Welcome to my home,’ said Beryl with a sweep of her arm. ‘One room, comfortably furnished, shared bathroom, use of kitchen by arrangement, eight shillings a week. And, as you’ve just heard, no gentlemen visitors.’
Her voice sounded frail, and Jago spoke quickly, worried that the sight of this miserable room might send her into tears again.
‘I’m grateful to you for coming to the mortuary with us, and I’m very sorry to have to put you through something like that. It can’t have been easy for you.’
‘You’re right, it wasn’t. But at least it meant I could say goodbye to poor Joan – not everyone gets that chance these days, do they?’
Jago nodded.
‘It all seems a bit unreal,’ she continued. ‘I mean, you think about your sister maybe dying some day, but we always think it’ll be when we’re old and grey, not when we’re still in the prime of life. I can’t quite get it into my head that she’s really passed away. And to go in such a terrible way – why would anyone want to strangle Joan? And in her own home, too. We weren’t the closest of sisters, but we were sisters all the same. It’s just awful, shocking.’
