Murders in the Blitz

by Julia Underwood

  ‘No idea, Miss Duncan, but I’ll ask Dad when I see him later. She was such a pretty girl. What a waste.’

  ‘Did you ever see her yourself, Mr Drummond? As you thought she was so pretty?’ Eve said, again trying to blunt the question with a cheeky grin. She didn’t want him to think he was a suspect, though, of course, he could be.

  ‘Yeah. She was pleasant enough, for a foreign girl. Not my type really; a little too exotic, if you know what I mean.’

  To Eve this sounded like typical Londoner’s xenophobia. Some young men did not want to get mixed up with the foreign girls that had descended on London since the invasion of countries in Europe. She wasn’t sure if their aversion was a good thing or not.

  ‘Well, thank you, Mr Drummond. I won’t take up any more of your time.’ Eve turned towards the door. ‘But please ask your dad if he knows any men who were particularly friendly with Zoya.’

  ‘Any time,’ he paused, ‘...I don’t suppose you’d like to come for a drink with me later?’

  ‘No thanks. My boyfriend’s taking me to the Palais. See you around.’ She gave a friendly wave as she left, catching a glimpse of his disappointed face.

  It was nearly six and Pete was to pick her up at 7.30. They usually had a drink in the pub before walking into Hammersmith. She hurried home to prepare, put on her glad rags, sadly not as glamorous as Zoya’s, but the best she had.

  By seven thirty, primped and polished and wearing a swirling black skirt, a tight pink top and a pair of high heeled shoes for a change, she was ready. Pete arrived promptly and waited, cheerful and happy on her hearthrug as she put on her jacket. Such a good, solid citizen, Eve thought. This is what I need, someone steady to look after me. At the back of her mind something was telling her that that would not be very exciting, but she suppressed the thought ruthlessly.

  ‘At least it’s not raining,’ said Pete. ‘God, it’s good to have a night off. I seem to have been on duty forever.’

  With the staff shortage, shifts at the police station were longer than ever and double shifts were often a necessity. Pete had been victim to this and fatigue lined his homely face but had done little to suppress his cheerful nature.

  Eve hugged his arm to her as they climbed to the pavement.

  ‘We’ll have a good time, love, and try to forget about work, murders and wrongdoers; even lost dogs. We might forget about invasion, if we’re lucky.’

  ‘We will, darlin’,’ said Pete, but he still insisted on hearing all the details of Zoya’s murder over a drink.

  ‘Boy, Evie, are you sure you want to be mixed up in all this? Your Mum’s right, you know, it could be dangerous.’

  Eve dismissed his warning. ‘It’s more fun than wading through paper at Mount Pleasant.’

  Mr Weismann, the owner of the pawnbroker’s shop, was playing chess in the back bar. Eve wondered if he might know anything about the emblem she had seen on Simon Parkes’s cigarette case. It was the sort of thing he might recognise in his line of business. But it would have to wait; she wasn’t going to let the residents of the PRC spoil her evening.

  On their way to the Palais they passed near the PRC building. Eve saw Major Parkes hurrying out. He was moving fast for a man with a wounded leg. She was tempted to yell a greeting, but stopped as he stepped into a large black car. There were several other men inside, but Eve couldn’t see them clearly. Where could Major Parkes be going? Perhaps he was visiting that club he had told her about.

  As the evening was fine it didn’t take long to reach the Palais. Eve and Pete chose Wednesdays because the dancehall was less busy than Friday or Saturday nights. The polished floor was not thronging with barely moving dancers. By the time they arrived the evening was well under way. Dancers came early and left soon after ten as they had work the next day.

  How lovely it was to see everyone dressed up and enjoying themselves, somehow managing to forget the threat from across the Channel and the aerial battles going on over the east coast in ‘The Battle of Britain’, as Winnie called it. Everyone was convinced that Britain would prevail, the alternative was unthinkable.

  The band, loud with brass and rhythm, charged Eve’s mood and she grabbed Pete around the waist and dragged him to the floor. A glitter ball rotated in the warm air, casting a sparkling pattern over the revellers as they swirled into the crowd. Eve spotted Charlie in the distance, whirling one of his sparkling blondes around with abandon.

  ‘Come on, Pete. There’s no time to waste. Let’s enjoy ourselves while we can.’

  That seemed to be the philosophy of everyone present; the rich perfume of hedonism was in the air and no-one was going to be sad tonight. Soon everything might be very different.

  Chapter Twelve

  After a characteristically brief interlude of love-making, Pete was asleep on his back. His mouth gaped and his breath whickered noisily; not quite a snore, but nearly.

  Eve scrutinised him closely in the thin spear of light peeking through a gap in the blackout curtains. He had rather too much body hair for her taste, but he was very sweet. What he lacked in sexual skill he certainly made up for in enthusiasm, even if it was short-lived. A memory of a poem they had read at school crossed her mind. Something about ... “He no Orpheus and she no Eurydice”. Well that was true, neither of them would be much competition in a beauty contest.

  Eve sighed. Was this what she wanted? A nice, safe lad to settle down with. Mum would approve. With a steady job, Pete was likely to go far if Eve prodded his latent ambition. But she couldn’t help feeling that she’d prefer someone a little more exciting, more daring; someone to have adventures with.

  She went and made herself a cup of tea before returning to bed and snuggling close to Pete’s warm body. Before dozing off she reviewed everything she knew about Zoya’s death and reminded herself of things she needed to find out. How did Miss Archer know that Zoya was pregnant? What had happened to Zoya’s personal possessions, her handbag and papers, and why had Anna looked guilty when asked if the girls knew who Zoya’s boyfriend was? Did she know more than she wanted to tell?

  She planned to visit the PRC again to see if she could find out anything from Miss Archer. With luck she might bump into the major; that would brighten her day. If she discovered anything new she would see Inspector Reed later.

  Pete left early. His sleepy face greeted Eve with a cup of tea into which he seemed to have shovelled the last of her sugar ration.

  ‘Good God, Pete! You know I don’t like it sweet.’

  ‘Sorry, love. I thought it would help wake you up.’

  ‘What time is it?’ Eve scanned her watch blearily. ‘Christ, it’s only six. Go away. I can get another hour’s kip.’

  Pete had dressed in uniform, which he had brought with him the evening before so he didn’t have to go home before work. He dropped an awkwardly aimed kiss on Eve’s face. Minutes later she heard the front door slam and she turned over again. But Jake decided it was time for a walk, so she had no choice but to get dressed. The dog danced around her feet whilst she completed her rudimentary toilette.

  Early sun was lighting the Green except where the barrage balloon sailing overhead cast a looming shadow. Eve watched as a party of men winched the device to the ground from the back of the lorry and started to refill the top half from a tank of hydrogen. This had to be done every day to keep the thing in the air as the gas gradually leaked away. These huge contraptions, each covering an area the size of a football field when deflated, were designed to stop enemy bombers from flying too low. Eve had heard that there were about fourteen hundred in all, over London and other cities throughout England. She considered them a stately sight, but they did cut out the sunlight.

  After walking Jake around the Green, she returned home and dressed for work. She couldn’t think what she was going to do today that would advance the case, but she hoped to spin the job out long enough so she didn’t have to go to Mount Pleasant for the rest of the week. Today was Thursday. Surely she could find enough to occup
y her until Saturday. Who knows, she might even discover something that would help find the killer.

  There was something to do, but it was not welcome.

  ‘Ah, yes, Miss Duncan,’ said Inspector Reed, unusually distracted and vague. ‘I need a report of everything you’ve found so far. Typed by the end of today, please, two copies. Sergeant Godfrey will show you which typewriter to use. I’m out for the day.’

  He put on his cap, strode from the police station and stepped into the waiting black Wolseley, the headlights covered with the mandatory tube-like masks to minimise the beam during the blackout.

  Eve groaned; she hated typing. At Mount Pleasant, when there was any, she was senior enough to delegate it to one of her girls. Still, though rather slow, she was capable of the task. She found Sergeant Godfrey, who took her to a desk holding a heavy-looking Olivetti machine in the general office. Some men were working there, but they ignored her after a casual greeting. Pete was at Hammersmith today, so she couldn’t even pass the time of day with him.

  ‘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 everyw
here, 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