by Mike Hollow
‘It is a shock, yes. Perhaps you should sit down and have a good hot cup of tea with plenty of sugar. Peter, would you mind?’
‘Thank you,’ said Beryl slowly, as if her thoughts were wandering elsewhere. ‘There’s water in the kettle, and a teapot in the cupboard behind you.’
Cradock found a box of matches and lit the gas under the kettle.
‘Tell me about Joan,’ said Jago.
‘What’s there to say?’ Beryl replied. ‘None of it seems very important, now she’s gone. She was my big sister, two years older than me. I suppose that makes her the only person I’ve known for my whole life.’
‘And what kind of person was she?’
‘Just an ordinary girl. You know, normal. She didn’t have any peculiar hobbies or habits. She liked a bit of fun from time to time, but nothing outrageous. She wasn’t unkind to people.’
‘Was she religious?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘It’s just that we found a crucifix on the wall in her flat.’
‘Oh, that. She was raised a Catholic, same as me, but neither of us are what people call devout. I think that crucifix was something our dad gave her years ago – she probably kept it to remind her of him.’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘No, he died a few years back. He was Irish. He grew up in the slums in Dublin, then joined the army in the Great War – it was still the British Army in those days, of course – and spent three years in the Royal Dublin Fusiliers. But when it was all over and he came home everything in Ireland had changed, and men who’d fought for the king weren’t welcome. He decided to move to England – to get work, but also to get away from all that. He met our mum over here, and they got married. Joan came along pretty quickly, and then me a couple of years later. She was named after Joan of Arc. That was Dad’s choice – not because she fought against the English, but because she stood up for what she believed in. It was a good Catholic name.’
‘But I don’t think Beryl’s a Catholic name, is it?’
‘No, I don’t think it is. Mum and Dad had an agreement that he’d choose the name of their first child and she could choose the second. She named me Beryl after her mother.’ Beryl’s voice caught, and she wiped her eyes with her finger.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jago. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Beryl. ‘It just reminded me of when I was little and we were all together, a family.’
‘Is your mother still alive?’
‘No, she died before Dad. He was working, of course, so Joan had to take over running the house – he expected her to do all the chores. Then he died when Joan was seventeen. I think by then she felt he’d stolen her childhood, forcing her to be an adult when she wasn’t.’
‘And do you have any other family?’
‘No, it was just us. Now with her gone it means I’ve got no family at all in the world. It’s like being orphaned twice – I don’t feel connected to anything or anyone.’
‘You said you weren’t the closest of sisters. What did you mean?’
‘Well, I suppose I meant we were close, but not very. She was my only family, so we were close in that sense, but once we’d grown up I think we didn’t need each other so much. And then she got married, of course, and her life was very different to mine. She still looked out for me, though – she got me my first job. That’s how we both ended up in the same line of work.’
‘Yes, her mother-in-law Mrs Lewis mentioned that you both worked at the cinema. That’s how we found you.’
‘Ah, yes, Audrey.’
‘You know her, presumably?’
‘No, I’ve never met the woman. Joan used to say she was a funny old stick. Those weren’t the precise words she used, but I could tell she thought Audrey was a bit odd. When a girl marries a bloke, his parents are supposed to say they welcome her into the family like an extra daughter, aren’t they? From what Joan said, Audrey never did that. It was like she already had one daughter, and a son, and that was all she wanted or needed.’
‘She didn’t mention she had a daughter when we spoke to her.’
‘Well, she has, although I’ve never met her either. She’s called Elsie, a couple of years younger than her brother. Lives at her mum’s place with her husband and works in a pub – mainly evenings, I believe. The Green Man, on the corner of Stratford High Street and Carpenters Road. Don’t know what days, though.’
‘Tell me, please – when did you last see Joan?’
‘Last night. We were both at the Regal.’
‘When we were at the cinema with you and Mr Conway he said Joan hadn’t been feeling well last night and he’d told her she could go home as soon as the national anthem had finished, which would’ve been just after nine o’clock. Did you see her leave?’
‘No, I didn’t. When I said I was at the Regal I didn’t mean I was working. I was off last night, but I went with my boyfriend to watch the film.’
‘Isn’t that an odd thing to do when you work there? Hadn’t you seen the film already?’
Beryl giggled, but then seemed to remember she was talking to a police officer and composed herself.
‘I hadn’t seen it all the way through – I mean you don’t when you’re working, do you? Besides, he lives at home with his dad, and you can see I could never bring him back here, but I can get boys into the Regal for free, if I’m careful. It doesn’t really matter much to me whether I’ve seen bits of the films before. The cinema’s a good place if you want to have a nice time together, in the dark, if you know what I mean.’
Jago had a good enough idea of what she meant not to enquire further.
‘But anyway,’ she continued, ‘even when we’re both working at the same time I don’t necessarily always see her go. This place is the opposite direction to Joan’s flat from the Regal, so it’s not as though we were in the habit of walking home together or anything.’
‘So did she normally walk home on her own?’
‘As far as I know, yes.’
‘Did she have any friends? Close friends, I mean.’
‘I’m not sure – I didn’t know everything about her life, so she may’ve done. To be honest, though, I think she was lonely. You know her husband’s a soldier, missing in France?’
‘Yes, Mrs Lewis told us that, too.’
‘Well, I think since Richard went away she’s felt even less part of the family. I don’t think they’ve rallied round her, like some would. Mind you, to tell the truth, I don’t think her marriage was exactly Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, even when he was here. Not entirely happy, if you know what I mean. I got the impression there was something wrong, but I couldn’t tell you what it was.’
‘Do you know whether Joan had any men friends?’
‘What do you mean? She was married.’
‘Of course, yes, but we need to find out who was in her circle of acquaintances – just to eliminate them from our enquiries.’
‘Well, if you must ask, I don’t know of any close male friends. But then she wouldn’t tell me, would she? I was her little sister.’
‘What about close female friends?’
Beryl thought for a few moments. ‘There’s one person I can think of who seemed to be quite good friends with Joan. I’ve met her a couple of times. She’s called Carol something – Hurst, I think. Yes, that’s it, Carol Hurst. I don’t know where she lives, but she works at the National Provincial Bank on the High Street.’
‘Thank you, that’s very helpful. Now, before we go, do you recall Joan being worried about anything recently?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Or anything about her behaviour that struck you as out of the ordinary?’
‘No, it just seemed to be life as usual, except for her moving from the Broadway to the Regal.’ She thought for a moment. ‘There was just one thing, though. Hang on a minute.’
She crossed the room to the bed, knelt down and felt beneath it, then hauled s
omething out and handed it to Jago.
‘This was a bit odd,’ she said.
Jago looked it over. It was a cardboard suitcase, scratched and dented on one side, with the result that the lid barely fitted it.
‘Have a look inside,’ she said. ‘Joan asked me to look after this when she moved out of her mother-in-law’s place. Said she didn’t want the old girl coming round to her new flat and finding some excuse to nose around.’
Jago put the case on the table and opened it. Carefully emptying its contents onto the table, he found some items of strange-looking clothing: a green tunic, a green hood, a green pair of shorts and a leather belt.
‘Odd, isn’t it?’ said Beryl. ‘I’ve no idea what it is, and Joan never said why she didn’t want Audrey to find it.’
‘Odd indeed,’ said Jago. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to take this away with me.’
‘Be my guest,’ Beryl replied with a shrug. ‘This place is pokey enough as it is, without cluttering it up with someone’s old fancy dress costumes.’
CHAPTER NINE
Cross Street was quiet, almost deserted. The only sound was the dreary cry of the rag and bone man and the clip-clop of the horse pulling his cart slowly round the corner from Mark Street. Jago stood for a moment, thinking, then thrust the suitcase into Cradock’s hand.
‘Here, take this,’ he said. ‘You can look after it till we get to the station. We need to pop back to the cinema and see if we can get a word with that secretary, Cynthia Carlton, in private. I’ve got a feeling she might be able to add something to the pot if her boss isn’t hanging around listening to her every word.’
They returned to the Regal and found Conway at his desk in the manager’s office and his secretary at hers, typing.
‘Excuse me, Mr Conway,’ said Jago, ‘but I need to have a word with Miss Carlton. Do you mind if I take her out for a few minutes? We won’t be long.’
‘Out? But I’m sure there’s nothing she would say that she can’t say in here.’
‘I need to speak to her in private.’
‘But she’s busy. She’s typing some urgent correspondence for me.’
‘Mr Conway, I’m investigating the murder of one of your employees. I’m asking you for the sake of politeness, but if you prefer, I’ll just tell you. I’m taking Miss Carlton out for a talk and I’ll return her to you as soon as possible.’
‘Oh, I see. Very well, then. But be as quick as you can.’
‘Come along, Miss Carlton. I expect you could do with a cup of tea.’
Cynthia got her coat and hat, and left with the two detectives. A few doors down the road from the cinema there was an ABC tea shop that didn’t look too busy.
‘Actually, Inspector,’ said Cynthia once they were inside, ‘if you don’t mind, I think I’d rather have a hot chocolate.’
‘Certainly. And something to eat?’
‘Well, I shouldn’t, but … perhaps a little toasted tea cake.’
‘And perhaps—’ Cradock began.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Jago. ‘Perhaps a little something for you too.’
‘Thanks very much, sir.’
Cradock settled for a plate of ham sandwiches and a pork pie with his cup of tea, but Jago preferred just a slice of Dundee cake.
‘Now, Miss Carlton,’ Jago began, ‘tell me, please – how long have you worked at the Regal?’
‘Ooh, I don’t know, it must be three years, I think. It was before Mr Conway came, when the old manager was still there – a right one he was. Mr Conway was like a breath of fresh air. At first, anyway. This tea cake’s lovely, you know.’
‘Good. And what did you do before that?’
‘I worked for the Gas Light & Coke Company. I was just a typist then, at Beckton gasworks, but now I’m a secretary – much more responsibility. It’s people like me that keep places like the Regal going. Not that I’ll be there for ever, of course. I’ve got plans, you see.’
‘I’m sure. Now, the set of keys that you hold for the cinema – do you have any reason to believe they could’ve got into anyone else’s hands recently?’
‘No, they’ve been with me all the time. I keep them in my handbag.’
‘And I assume you still have them.’
‘Yes.’ She opened her handbag, pulled out some keys on a ring, and dangled them in front of him. ‘See? I don’t think Mr Conway would ever say I was anything less than a very trustworthy employee.’
‘Thank you. How do you get on with Mr Conway? Personally, I mean.’
‘He’s all right.’
‘He seems a very enterprising man.’
‘Oh yes, very enterprising. He’ll try anything.’ She snapped her handbag shut and hung it on the back of her chair.
‘What’s he like to work for?’
‘He’s very particular, wants the Regal to be the best cinema in the area. I think he sees himself sailing on to greater things in the future, so he wants everything he touches to be a success.’
‘He told us he runs a tight ship.’
‘Yes, he talks like that – likes to be in command, if you know what I mean. He gets all the doormen and usherettes lined up every day for a uniform inspection, like an admiral on a battleship. Always keen to check everything’s where it should be – he expects them all to be up to scratch.’
‘And Joan Lewis – was she up to scratch?’
‘As far as he was concerned, I’d say very definitely yes, she was.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean he had his eye on her, and I don’t mean he thought she tore her tickets in half neatly. He has an eye for the ladies, does our Mr Conway, and he had his eyes on her.’
‘Are you suggesting there was some sort of relationship between them?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Inspector. But we learn things in life, don’t we? And something I’ve learnt is that he’s one of those men who’ll chase anything in a skirt – and these days in trousers too, as long as it’s a pretty girl who’s wearing them.’
‘But she was a married woman.’
‘Yes, but you know what they say. While the cat’s away …’
‘Do you have any evidence for that?’
‘No, but I know Mr Conway. Let’s just say he and I have a little history, and I’ve probably got to know him better than the rest of the staff have. If you ask me, it’s a pity they haven’t taken him for the army. That might’ve given him something different to think about.’
‘He told us he’d been exempted from military service.’
‘Oh, yes, I expect he told you about his spot of heart trouble.’
‘That’s right. He said he’d failed the medical examination.’
‘Yes, well, I reckon he failed it because when they looked for his heart they couldn’t find one. Will that be all, Inspector?’
‘For the time being, yes, thank you.’
‘So, Peter, what do you make of it all so far?’ said Jago when Cynthia had departed for the cinema. ‘We’ve got a young woman murdered. Her husband’s in the army, missing in France, possibly captured, possibly worse. Her mother-in-law doesn’t think much of her character or her sense of responsibility, but her boss at the cinema seems to have thought highly of her.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t just her character he was thinking of, sir,’ said Cradock.
‘Quite. Then we’ve got her sister, Beryl.’
‘She seems a sweet girl.’
‘Yes, I suppose she would, to you. Like a younger sister, eh?’
‘No, just a younger member of the public, sir.’
‘Good. Now, it seems Beryl wasn’t especially close to Joan, and her mother-in-law Audrey certainly wasn’t, from the sound of it. That leaves this Carol Hurst as the only close friend anyone’s mentioned, so we’ll need to find her. That kitchen’s troubling me too.’
‘Whose kitchen?’
‘Joan’s. We had a good look round, but there were no photos, no letters, no books, nothing to tell us anything about her.
Same in the bedroom. As if she’d made sure there was nothing there to help anyone find out.’
‘Or someone else wanted to make sure and removed it.’
‘Possibly, but if you’d just murdered her you wouldn’t want to hang around collecting up all her stuff before you got away, would you?’
‘No. So maybe she just didn’t want anyone to know who she was. A bit weird. And what about that Soho Strangler business, sir? Do you think she was on the game?’
‘It might explain why she moved out to a place of her own, and also why she let a stranger into her flat at night, if that’s what she did. We need to find out more about how she spent her time when she wasn’t being an usherette. I want you to have a word with Tom Gracewell – ask him if he’s seen or heard anything on his beat that would suggest she was a lady of the night. And check whether Scotland Yard’s got any fingerprints for her on record. If she’s ever been charged with a prostitution offence anywhere in the Metropolitan Police district she’ll have been fingerprinted. Meanwhile I’ll talk to whoever was responsible for investigating those Soho stranglings.’
‘There’s also the question of someone else, isn’t there? Someone she presumably knew rather well. What I mean is, who’s the father of her child?’
‘Indeed. The only person we know it can’t possibly be is her husband. He may be resourceful, but not that resourceful.’
‘We need to find that sailor, too, don’t we? The one whose cap we found in Joan’s flat.’
‘That’s right. And there’s also the small matter of the break-in at the Regal. If Conway’s right about the takings, it’s a serious amount of money, so we’ll have to get onto it.’
‘Do you think it could’ve been an inside job, sir? None of them look like explosives experts to me, but then if one of the keyholders was involved, all they’d have to do is let the professionals in.’
