by Rennie Airth
‘Have they asked Molly?’
‘His tart?’ Fred shrugged a second time. ‘Dunno. All I can tell you is what I hear round the station. They’re trying to find out if he had a client call on him yesterday. Late. He was topped around eight o’clock. That’s what we were doing door-to-door.’ He peered shrewdly at Lily. ‘Why you asking?’
She hesitated. Then shrugged. ‘I was thinking about that business he used to have. False cards. This bloke we’re looking for, Ash, they reckon he might have changed his name already. Got himself a new identity.’
‘And you think it could have been Quill who got it for him?’ Fred chuckled. He popped the last piece of sausage into his mouth. ‘I know you want to make your mark at the Yard, love, but you’re stretching a little, aren’t you?’
‘Probably,’ Lily agreed with a grin. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing: if he had got himself a new ID card and there was only one person in the world who knew it – I mean the feller he’d got it from – then it’s odds on he’d top him. He’s that sort of bloke.’
She saw Fred’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the bluntness of her words.
‘If I was them, I’d talk to Molly,’ she went on as Fred rose from the table and took his plate to the sink. ‘ CID blokes. I’d squeeze her. Find out what she knows. She was living with Quill the last I heard. He’s bound to have dropped a few hints as to what he was up to.’
‘I’ll pass that along,’ Fred said as he rose from the table and took his plate to the sink. ‘I’m sure Roy Cooper will be glad of the advice,’ he added with yet another wink, referring to a detective-sergeant Lily knew who was stationed at Paddington. ‘He’s handling the investigation.’
About to go up to her room, Lily paused at the door.
‘Tell me, Uncle Fred, do the tarts still meet at the Astor Café?’ she asked him.
‘So far as I know.’ Fred eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why you asking?’
‘No special reason.’ Lily grinned at him from the door. ‘But I might look in there tomorrow and wish the girls a merry Christmas.’
23
‘TO LOOK AT THEM you wouldn’t think they were convalescent,’ Lord Stratton remarked as the dancers circled one another to the ‘Here-we-go-gathering-nuts-in-May’ jingle of a Paul Jones, then stopped as the music did and formed pairs again. ‘I distinctly remember seeing that young man on crutches only a week ago,’ he added as a couple spun by in a brisk foxtrot. ‘He seems to have made a remarkable recovery.’
Though confined to a wheelchair after twisting his ankle in a fall the day before, his lordship was in good spirits. The Highfield Christmas party was an annual event he never failed to attend, and he and Madden were watching the dancers from a corner of the church hall decked for the occasion with holly boughs and strung with coloured lights. Not far from where they were was a table supporting two large punch bowls and rows of still empty glasses, but neither man had sampled the concoction on offer, knowing as they did from past years that it took some stomaching. Instead they were refreshing themselves from a bottle of whisky which Madden had smuggled into the hall beneath the blanket covering his charge’s knees.
The party had been enlivened by the presence of a batch of young officers still officially recovering from their wounds, but, as Lord Stratton had just noted, remarkably spry when it came to cutting a figure on the dance floor. They had been accompanied by a dozen or so nurses from Stratton Hall, who had shed their uniforms and joined the local girls in providing partners for the unusually large number of unaccompanied males, a patriotic gesture to which the village wives had also lent their support.
‘How wonderful Helen looks. She never seems to age.’
Lord Stratton had just caught a glimpse of Madden’s wife among the circling couples.
‘You ought to be dancing with her yourself, John.’ He nudged his companion.
‘What? And spoil her pleasure?’ Madden grinned. ‘I’ve been told for years I dance like a bear. It’s a family joke.’
Lord Stratton chuckled. His gaze continued to wander over the thronged dance floor.
‘I can’t believe how Lucy’s grown up so suddenly. What a beauty she’s become. How do you cope with that?’
‘I don’t. She runs rings around me.’
Madden’s smile widened as he watched his lovely daughter sail by – the music, supplied by a gramophone, had changed to a waltz – while the young army officer in whose arms she rested gazed into her eyes with open adoration.
‘She arrived from London today in a staff car with an elderly admiral who was on his way to Portsmouth. Somehow she’d persuaded him to offer her a lift. I should have thought it was against naval regulations, but she doesn’t seem to pay much attention to those. I just pray the war ends before she’s court-martialled.’
The question of their daughter’s behaviour in London had provided the subject matter for a spirited family debate at lunch earlier, but though Helen had questioned Lucy closely, she had had to confess to Madden afterwards that she was still no closer to discovering how she spent her evenings in London.
‘Late duty. Double shifts. Double talk, if you ask me. But I’ve got her here for a few days now and I’ll get to the bottom of it.’
A portly figure in military garb approached and Lord Stratton hailed him.
‘Good evening, Colonel. Or should I call you Doctor? I’m never certain.’
‘I’m not sure myself, sir. Some are born great, some achieve greatness and others have it thrust on them. I fall into the latter category. However, as soon as the war’s over I expect to return to my humble station.’
Brian Chadwick’s moon face glowed with good fellowship.
‘Hello, John,’ he said. ‘What’s that you fellows are drinking?’
He peered into Madden’s glass.
‘We smuggled in something less lethal than what they put in those punch bowls,’ Lord Stratton replied to the question. ‘Would you like some?’
Chadwick reflected for a moment. He studied the dregs in his own glass, then shook his head reluctantly.
‘Thank you, sir, but I’d better not. If I mix the two I’ll be done for.’
A frown had settled like a cloud on Madden’s brow. The appearance of the Stratton Hall medico had stirred a memory in him, and as luck would have it, just at that moment his distracted gaze fell on his wife and the young RAF officer she was dancing with.
‘Brian,’ he said, ‘that fellow dancing with Helen – is he by any chance the pilot you were telling me about not long ago? The one whose face was burned and who had to go off somewhere to have it fixed?’
‘That’s right,’ Chadwick replied after he had peered for several seconds in the direction Madden indicated. ‘Tyson’s his name. We sent him to Oxford. There’s a special unit there. They do plastic surgery. He returned a week ago for further convalescence. Poor fellow, he still looks a bit raw, doesn’t he?’
Madden grunted. It was the angry red stripes on the young man’s face that had caught his eye. He waited until the gramophone fell silent and the dance ended, then made his way through the milling couples to where his wife was chatting to her partner.
‘Have you come to beg for a dance at last?’ Helen teased him. Elegant in a simple dark frock set off by a pearl necklace, she had hardly been allowed to leave the floor, and even as they spoke another young officer was positioning himself at a discreet distance away ready to claim her as a partner.
‘Not yet. I’m still plucking up my courage.’
Laughing, she turned to her companion. ‘Paul, this is my husband, John Madden. John, this is Paul Tyson. His family’s from Winchester. They know Luke and Marigold.’
The young pilot had flushed on hearing his name mentioned, and with a gesture that was probably automatic by now had raised a hand to his cheek as he bobbed his head to Madden and muttered ‘Good evening, sir.’ He was in his early twenties with flaxen hair and pale skin which showed the marks of his ordeal all too plainly. Two livid stripes cu
rving from eye to mouth gave his face an unbalanced appearance, while a further mark the size of a half-crown marred his otherwise smooth forehead.
‘Paul’s a wonderful dancer.’
Helen slipped her arm through the young man’s and Madden saw that she was trying to ease his self-consciousness.
‘Can we have another dance later?’ She smiled encouragement at him.
While Tyson mumbled an assurance, flushing once more as he spoke, Madden caught Helen’s eye and nodded slightly. Then he touched the young pilot on the shoulder.
‘Actually, I was wondering if we could have a word, you and I. There’s something I want to ask you.’
‘Ask me, sir?’
Caught off guard, Tyson forgot his disfigurement for a moment. He stared at Madden in open surprise; face to face.
‘Yes, it won’t take a moment.’
As Helen released the young man’s arm, Madden took him by the elbow.
‘Why don’t we go somewhere where it’s quiet.’
‘Oh Lord, yes. I remember that afternoon well. I thought about it a lot afterwards – after I’d heard what had happened to the poor girl. It reminded me of the squadron.’
‘The squadron?’ Madden was puzzled by the remark.
‘I mean, how you could be talking to someone one day, just chatting, and the next day they were dead. It happened all the time.’
Tyson flushed. He drew on the cigarette he had a lit a moment earlier.
‘The police are curious about that train journey, Paul.’ Madden had led the young officer out of the hall into a small ante-room. They could still hear the music and see the dancers through the open doorway, but the noise was deadened to some extent, perhaps by the coats that were hanging on rails all around them. ‘They have reason to believe that the man who killed Rosa boarded the train at Guildford; that he may have spotted her then. Do you remember anything out of the ordinary; anything about that trip that sticks in your memory?’ Madden paused, and when Tyson failed to reply at once – he appeared to be searching his memory – he added: ‘Colonel Chadwick told me you were in the same compartment as Rosa going up to London.’
‘Yes, that’s right, sir.’ The pilot nodded. ‘But we didn’t really talk during the journey. She met a friend on the train, you see.’
‘A friend—?’
‘A girl. She was Polish, like Rosa. They knew each other.’
‘Good heavens!’ Madden made no attempt to hide his astonishment. ‘How strange that she never came forward.’ He pondered a moment. ‘Of course, it’s possible she doesn’t know about Rosa’s murder. There was only a line in the paper about it. Who was she exactly?’
‘I’m not certain. All I know is what Miss Nowak … what Rosa told me …’ Tyson hesitated. ‘You see, I didn’t really know her either. I’d only heard her play at that concert, and when I saw her on the platform I went up to her and introduced myself and she told me her name. I said how much I’d enjoyed her performance, but we only exchanged a few words. She was very shy. Withdrawn, rather. When the train arrived I helped her on with her luggage – she had a basket of food besides her suitcase – and found a compartment with a couple of empty seats. The other girl was already sitting there and they recognized one another at once and started talking – in Polish. They were obviously excited to have run into each other.’
‘Their meeting was a surprise, then? They weren’t expecting it?’
‘Oh, no, definitely not.’ Tyson shook his head. ‘In fact, after a minute, Rosa broke off and apologized to me. She introduced the girl – I’m sorry, I’ve no recollection of her name – and said they had known one other in Warsaw. They’d been at the same college studying to be teachers. I got the impression they’d had no idea they were both in England. Rosa said she was sorry again and asked would I mind if they talked together – meaning would I mind if she didn’t talk to me – and I said of course it was all right and I understood. And that was more or less the end of it as far as I was concerned. We didn’t exchange another word other than to say goodbye when we reached Waterloo. I was in a hurry – I was hoping it wasn’t too late to catch my train to Oxford – and I left them there still getting their things together in the compartment. The other girl had luggage, too. Anyway, it was the last I saw of them.’
‘Tyson stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. But he appeared to be thinking hard, frowning with concentration, stroking the side of his face where the scars were, as though for a moment he had forgotten about them. Madden stayed silent, waiting for him to speak again.
‘You asked if there was anything out of the ordinary, anything I remembered …’
‘Yes … ?’ Madden prompted him.
‘Well, there was something. It’s just come back to me. Only I don’t think it meant anything …’
‘ on.’
‘It’s just that they suddenly stopped speaking … the two girls …’
‘Stopped speaking?’ Madden frowned in turn. ‘What do you mean?’
‘They were talking non-stop – in Polish, of course – chattering away as though there was just too much to say, as though they had to cram in everything that had happened to them in the last few years. At least, that’s what I remember thinking at the time.’ Tyson flushed. ‘Of course, you know what happens when people do that in a compartment. Other people get upset, they don’t like the noise.’ A grin came to his lips. ‘ old boy sitting opposite me started coughing and rustling his newspaper, I recall. He was clearly getting fed up with them, but they didn’t realize it and just went on talking … until suddenly they went silent.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not sure. We’d stopped at a station, I remember, so their voices had seemed even louder until the moment when they stopped. It was as though they’d been struck dumb. The old boy looked up in surprise, I remember, and so did I. I was reading a newspaper and when I glanced up I saw Rosa looking stunned; or surprised, anyway. She was sitting on one of the seats opposite, so it was her face I saw. The other girl was beside me and she’d gone silent, too. Something had happened; but I’ve no idea what.’
He looked questioningly at Madden; as though he might have the answer.
‘You’d stopped at a station, you said?’
The pilot nodded.
‘Could it have been Guildford?’
‘Yes, I rather think it was.’ Tyson replied at once. ‘We’d been travelling for a while, half an hour at least, and we’d stopped once or twice already.’
‘And presumably people looked into the compartment to see if there were any free seats? From the corridor, I mean?’
‘They must have, sir. As I say, the train was very crowded. As a matter of fact, Rosa and I got the last two empty seats in our compartment and it stayed that way until we reached Waterloo. No one else joined us.’
‘Yes, but I’m more interested in who might have looked in at Guildford. Stuck his head in the door for a moment, say, and been spotted by Rosa.’
Tyson took a deep breath: it was clear he was trying hard to be helpful. But after a few moments’ thought he shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, sir. It might have happened. People looked in every time we stopped at a station. But I just can’t say for certain.’
I understand.’ Madden smiled in encouragement. But tell me what happened after that. Did they go on talking as before?’
Again Tyson hesitated.
‘Yes and no,’ he said, after a moment’s reflection. They were quiet for a bit, then they started chatting again, but it wasn’t like before. The atmosphere had changed. I don’t know why. I wasn’t watching them exactly, but I did glance at Rosa once or twice and I had the impression something was bothering her.’
‘Why was that?’
‘It was her manner. I can remember her leaning forward at one point and speaking in a low voice to the other girl. She seemed concerned about something. They were both behaving oddly. They’d gone quiet; they were subdued.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m only guessing, you under
stand. Everything they said was in Polish, so I really have no idea what was passing between them.’
Madden rubbed the scar on his forehead; it was a sign of his preoccupation.
‘Tell me what happened when you reached Waterloo,’ he said.
‘Well, I was in a hurry, as I told you, but I helped Rosa get her stuff down from the overhead rack and did the same for her friend and then I rushed off. We’d got in very late and in the event I missed my train to Oxford …’
He looked at Madden expectantly, waiting to see if he had anything more to say. As they stood there in silence, a burst of laughter came from the open doorway and a couple lurched in.
‘Oops …’
The young woman giggled. She was leading one of the officers by the hand and they lingered for a moment, swaying on their feet, uncertain what to do, before backing out.
‘Did you happen to learn where this other girl came from?’ Oblivious to the interruption, Madden continued. Where she’d got on the train?’
Tyson shook his head.
‘But she must have been living in the country. When I got her luggage down from the rack I noticed she had a basket of food, just as Rosa did.’
‘Can you describe her?’
The young pilot reflected.
‘She was about the same age as Rosa, but red-haired. The compartment wasn’t heated and she was wearing a coat, so I can’t tell you what sort of figure she had. But she wasn’t tall, about the same height as Rosa, I should say, but not as pretty.’ He flushed again. ‘She had a nice smile, though. I remember that.’
‘Just one more question. Was the platform at Waterloo crowded when you got off?’
‘Packed.’ Tyson’s answer came promptly. ‘With the train so late, everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere. They were piling out of the carriages. There was a proper scrum on the platform.’
Madden smiled. ‘Thank you, Paul,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a great help. Now you can get back to the party and enjoy yourself.’
He waited until the young man had gone, then followed him back into the hall and stood watching, hands in pockets, while the dancers slowly circled the floor. He was lost in thought, however, and failed to notice Helen’s wave as she passed by; nor did he see the kiss his daughter blew him. It was only when a massive figure finally positioned itself directly in front of him, demanding his attention, that he was forced to return to the present.
