Murders in the Blitz

by Julia Underwood

  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 to
gether 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.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eve and Charlie spent the remainder of Friday mooching around the neighbourhood and mulling over the case. Charlie went to see his mother in the evening, so Eve spent a quiet evening at home listening to the wireless and looking forward to the weekend.

  Saturday September 7th dawned fine and sunny. London went about its business as normal. The good weather raised spirits and people could almost forget the ever-present threat of invasion and the brutal battles in the skies. How peaceful and serene everything seemed. No-one detected how close they were to their world being blown apart.

  Pete was off duty in the afternoon and, as planned, the couple visited the Silver Cinema in Uxbridge Road to see the latest movie Night Train to Munich, with Margaret Lockwood and Rex Harrison, a gripping adventure with spies and a couple falling in love as they escape the Nazis into neutral Switzerland. Both Eve and Pete enjoyed the film, though from different perspectives. The end was nearly spoiled as, about ten minutes from the denouement, the shriek of the air raid siren shrilled through the auditorium, amplified by the public address system.

  Many of the audience leapt, terrified, to their feet and prepared to run for the exit. The cinema management, through the same microphones, advised everyone to stay and enjoy the rest of the film.

  ‘They’re just testing the siren,’ the disembodied voice said. ‘There’s only ten minutes of the film to go. Then please leave the theatre in an orderly fashion.’

  In spite of murmurings of rebellion, the audience watched the film to the end and were shortly emerging into the Uxbridge Road, bright daylight blinding them after the darkness of the theatre.

  It became clear that the air raid siren’s sounding was, for the first time, not merely a test. Over to the East they could hear the thump and rumble of high explosive bombs. On Shepherd’s Bush Green someone climbed to the top of the angel War Memorial and reported thick clouds of smoke in the distance over the East End. And they could hear the rattle of anti-aircraft fire. But, more terrifying was the grinding note of heavy aircraft engines approaching; every second bringing death within range of the western suburbs.

  ‘God!’ said Pete, grabbing Eve’s hand, ‘I think this may be the real thing.’

  People dispersed in every direction; to their homes and to the air raid shelters. Pete and Eve ran into the nearby railway arches where they were joined by a hundred others. They huddled together anxiously until the all clear sounded about an hour later. They left, breathing a sigh of relief for escaping harm. Perhaps the Luftwaffe was not going to bomb Shepherd’s Bush today.

  Pete and Eve went home and ate; each wrapped in thought. The war was finally becoming a personal reality. When the sirens wailed again later in the evening, they gathered blankets and provisions and walked to the concrete public shelter at the corner of the Green. Pete carried Jake under his arm. As they passed the Underground station they saw that a crowd had gathered and were demanding to be let in. Several air raid wardens were barring their way.

  ‘They want to shelter in the station,’ said Pete. ‘I don’t think they’ll let them. It’ll cause chaos.’

  ‘Why ever won’t they let them in?’ asked Eve, ‘It seems an ideal place to shelter.’

  ‘We’ve been told it won’t be permitted,’ said Pete. ‘Think how insanitary it would get with hundreds of people down there.’

  For most of the night the couple, in the company of many other frightened, sleepless people, listened to the sound of mayhem above their heads. The whistling of bombs falling through the air, the thumping roar as they landed and the rattle of anti-aircraft fire punctuated the night. After the All Clear sounded at about 4 am they staggered, stiff and chilled into the street and shuffled home for a few hours sleep.

  When Eve woke on Sunday morning Pete had already left for work. She snuggled under the blankets, still dusty from the concrete shelter. Jake snored gently at the foot of the bed. He wasn’t begging to be walked so Pete must have taken him out, bless him. Eve turned over for a good lie in. Perhaps she could blot out the murder and the air raid for a few more hours.

  Yesterday’s onslaught hadn’t come as a surprise. Everyone had been aware for weeks that it was inevitable. At the end of August a squadron of German bombers returning from a raid on RAF airfields dropped their surplus armament on the East End of London. Hitler must have thought that bombing civilians was a good idea to bring England quickly to its knees.

  Eventually Eve emerged from the bed and, after a hasty breakfast she took Jake for a wal
k. There was more activity than was usual on a Sunday morning, but she could see no sign of damage to any buildings nearby. What struck her most was that people were talking to each other, stopping strangers to ask if they were all right, offering help to anyone who might need support. A new spirit of communal cooperation was in the air.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eve was meeting Charlie for lunch in the pub. Just a pie and a beer, but she needed company. The new turn of events had unsettled her and she no longer felt confident that her life was secure. Charlie already had a pint in front of him when she arrived with Jake. A couple of friends that Charlie played football with were also at the table.

  ‘There you are, me old china,’ he called.

  ‘Do shut up, Charlie, trying to be a Cockney,’ retorted Eve.

  ‘Whatcha mean? I’m Charlie Spalding, cockney sparrer.’

  ‘I know as well as you do that you were born in Watford, so give over,’ she said after she’d greeted the others. ‘Half pint for me please, Charlie.’

  Conversation naturally concentrated on the air raid. Locally there had been little damage, even though the aircraft had passed overhead. The bombers had returned to their bases in France after dropping incendiaries on the docks and targets along the eastern stretches of the Thames. They had heard the reports on the wireless of huge fires in the east and damage to homes in the suburbs, but so far Shepherd’s Bush was unscathed.

  Much later that day, when it was getting dark, with stomachs full of alcohol and little else, Eve and her companions were leaving the Bush in cheerful mood, when they heard the sound of the sirens winding up to a crescendo of banshee wailing.

  The air above them began to thrum with the rumble of heavy aircraft. The barrage balloon sailing over Shepherd’s Bush Green shivered and swung wildly, disturbed by turbulent air overhead as the aircraft tried to fly closer to the ground to aim. The sky was criss-crossed with shafts of light from the searchlights scouring the sky for enemy aircraft, to give the anti-aircraft gunners on the highest buildings a chance to shoot them down or at least disable them so that they were forced to limp home to France.