Dead of Winter

by Rennie Airth

  ‘Will!’ Madden collected himself with a start. ‘I was about to come looking for you.’

  ‘Were you, sir?’ Stackpole’s broad smile belied his tone, which was disbelieving. ‘You looked like you were miles away.’ Out of his uniform for once, the Highfield bobby was sporting a dark suit of ancient cut fraying a little at the edges.

  ‘No, really. I’ve a question for you. A problem, rather …’

  ‘Let’s hear it, then.’ Stackpole drained the glass he was carrying in a single swallow.

  ‘How difficult would it be to discover the whereabouts of a young woman living not too far away from here – at least that’s my assumption – name unknown, but Polish by origin?’

  ‘An alien?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And in much the same sort of situation as Rosa was, I imagine.’

  ‘Meaning what, exactly?’ Stackpole frowned.

  ‘I’ve just learned they were on the same train going up to London that day. This other girl was taking some food up with her, just as Rosa did. So she’s probably living in or near a village rather than a town. And somewhere down the line from here, because she was already on the train when Rosa boarded it.’

  Stackpole pondered the question. ‘Have you got a description of her?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a very good one. She’s about Rosa’s age, but redhaired. Nothing beyond that.’

  ‘Polish, though – that’s the point.’ The constable nodded wisely. ‘It won’t be too difficult. A few telephone calls should do the trick.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Wherever she is, she must be registered with the police. She’s an alien after all. And if she’s living in a village or in the countryside, she’ll have done that with the local bobby, same as Rosa did with me. It’s just a matter of checking the stations where the train stops and talking to the bobbies involved. I know most of them, by name at any rate, at least as far as Petersfield. I’ll start calling in the morning.’

  ‘Would you? I’d appreciate that. It’s not something I want to bother Mr Sinclair with, not at this stage. I’m just curious …’

  ‘Curious, sir?’

  ‘I’ve just been talking to that young pilot over there, the one with the scarred face. He was also on the train, in the same compartment as the girls, in fact. I think Ash may have looked in for a moment when they stopped at Guildford. Shown his face. Something happened there. The pilot noticed it. Rosa may have recognized him, and if so it would explain why he moved to kill her so quickly afterwards. What I want to find out is whether Rosa said anything about it to this other girl.’

  Stackpole was silent, taking in the information. Then he shrugged.

  ‘Can’t see that it’ll help much with the investigation, sir, even if you do find out. Nor with the hunt for this fellow Ash.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  Madden acknowledged the fact with a rueful smile and a nod.

  ‘It’s why I don’t want to bother the chief inspector. He’s got enough on his plate. But apart from the air-raid warden Rosa bumped into in Bloomsbury, this girl was probably the last person she spoke to, and if so, I want to know that.’

  He nodded to himself, as if in response to some unuttered thought.

  ‘I want to hear what passed between them.’

  24

  IT HAD STOPPED SNOWING when Lily woke up the next morning, and after snatching a mouthful of breakfast with Aunt Betty in the kitchen – Uncle Fred wasn’t on duty until later that day and was still snoring in bed – she went out with a bowl of beef dripping wrapped in greaseproof paper in her hands and a list of errands in her pocket. The dripping was to be delivered to Ada Chapworth, who had a house in Star Street, fifteen minutes’ walk from Orsett Terrace where the Pooles lived, in return for four pig’s trotters, which Lily was then to take to the Harwood residence, just across the Edgware Road, in Marylebone, where she would receive in exchange from Ellie Harwood half a pound of sugar, a jar of home-made cherry jam and three eggs.

  ‘And make sure none of them’s cracked,’ Aunt Betty had told her niece before she set off. ‘That Ellie’s a sharp one.’

  Ever since rationing had been introduced, the trade in bartered goods had grown steadily, and with the shops, despite the approach of Christmas, emptier than ever, housewives had learned to exercise their ingenuity. Lily didn’t bother with it herself – she tended to eat her main meal of the day, unappetizing though it usually was, in a police canteen – but she knew how much it meant to her aunt to keep up standards at home and she was happy to do her the favour.

  As luck would have it, however, her route to Mrs Chapworth took her down Praed Street, and as she went by the Astor café she stopped for a moment to peer through the steamed-up window. Four women were sitting together at a table at the back of the cramped room, and, having paused to check their faces, Lily tucked the bowl of dripping safely under one arm and pushed the door open.

  ‘Merry Christmas, ladies.’

  She crossed to where they were sitting, collecting a chair from another table as she went and signalling to the apronclad man behind the counter with a nod and a gesture that she wanted teas served all round. As she sat down, one of the tarts spoke up.

  ‘Look what the cat dragged in. Where’d you get that coat? Down the flea market?’

  The speaker was a heavily built woman whose breasts bulged over the top of her low-cut dress. The garment she referred to was Lily’s ‘utility’ coat. Being off-duty she wasn’t wearing her uniform and she ignored the jibe.

  ‘Hello, Molly,’ she said, addressing her remark to another of the group, a younger woman with peroxide hair who was sitting by the wall. Red-eyed and tearful, she hadn’t looked up at Lily’s approach, just gone on staring into her empty teacup. ‘I want a word with you.’

  ‘Let her be. Can’t you see she’s upset?’

  The first woman spoke again, her tone more belligerent now. When Lily again failed to respond, she went on, What you doing here anyway, Poole? This isn’t your patch any more.’

  Lily turned her head slowly to look at her.

  ‘What did you call me?’ she asked in a tone of disbelief.

  The woman slowly went red under her gaze. She shifted her ample body in her chair.

  ‘Constable Poole, I meant …’ The words were spoken in a mutter.

  ‘And don’t you forget it.’ Lily continued to stare at her without expression for several seconds. ‘Now keep it shut, Dorrie Stubbs, or I’ll put you on a charge.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Sticking your nose in where it’s got no business.’

  Lily wasn’t short of experience in dealing with tarts, and although she felt sorry for some of them, she’d learned to keep up a hard front. It was true they had a rotten life, but they’d chosen it themselves, or most of them had, and for the same reason: bone idleness. And you couldn’t give them an inch, she knew, because they’d take it; and anything else they could get their hands on.

  ‘Now if you want another cup of tea, here it comes – ’ she’d seen the counterman approaching with a loaded tray – ‘if not, bugger off. I want to ask Molly something and I don’t want any interruptions.’

  ‘What you want with me?’ In spite of her quiet sobbing, Molly Minter had been listening. The mascara was running down her cheeks from the corners of her eyes as she looked up. ‘I don’t know nothing.’

  ‘You knew Horace Quill if I’m not mistaken.’

  At the sound of the name, Molly burst into a fresh bout of tears.

  ‘There – see what you’ve done.’

  Dorrie patted the hand lying on the table beside hers. The other two girls who Lily didn’t know – they must have been new since her time at Paddington – looked uneasy. Their fresh cups of tea stood untouched before them. Ignoring the fuss she’d started, Lily pressed on.

  ‘Have you talked to the law yet?’ she asked Molly. ‘Have you been interviewed?’

  ‘How could she?’ Dorrie demanded before her friend had
time to answer. She only got back from Streatham last evening. Went to see her old mum, she did. First thing she hears is someone’s topped her feller.’

  The answer was as Lily had feared, and it gave her pause. She knew she ought to back off now and leave this to Paddington. Roy Cooper would want first bite of any witness and he wouldn’t take kindly to her interfering. But she was reluctant to abandon the idea that had prompted her to enter the café and she told herself one question wouldn’t do any harm.

  ‘All right, listen now.’ She tapped her teaspoon on the table to get Molly’s attention. ‘This won’t take a second. Was Horace dealing in dodgy cards and ration books still? You can tell me. He’s dead now, so it won’t make no difference.’

  Molly delayed her answer while she wiped her eyes; then she shook her head. ‘He’d stopped all that. He told me so himself. Said he’d learned his lesson.’ She choked back a sob. ‘We was going to get married …’

  Disappointed by the reply she’d got – she was hoping Quill had been up to his old tricks again – Lily rolled her eyes in disbelief.

  ‘It was true.’ Molly roused herself. She glared at Lily. ‘Just cause you ain t got no one …

  ‘Mind your lip.’ Lily scowled. ‘And you too, Dorrie Stubbs,’ she added, catching the big tart’s eye and seeing she was about to add a comment of her own.

  ‘He’d been getting some money together,’ Molly continued doggedly. He said we was going to get hitched. He’d been working on a job. Proper work, too.’

  ‘What do you mean – proper work?’

  ‘Being a private detective and all.’

  ‘Oh, that …’ Lily swallowed her disappointment. ‘Look, I’m sorry for your loss.’

  Feeling she might have been a little hard on the poor cow,Lily patted her arm and rose to leave. Her idea had turned out to be a dud and she was wishing now she had left Molly Minter to the Paddington CID. Word of this chat she’d had with one of their witnesses was bound to get back to them, and there’d likely be ructions.

  ‘He’d got a client who was paying good money, too.’ Molly wasn’t finished yet. ‘Wads of it, Horace said.’

  Wanting to be off, Lily hesitated; her curiosity was piqued.

  ‘What sort of job?’ she asked. ‘Divorce case?’

  ‘Nah – missing persons.’ Molly sniffed.

  Well, that was no surprise, Lily thought, as she buttoned her coat and picked up her bowl of dripping. For all sorts of reasons the war had led to people disappearing from their usual haunts. (Some had done it on purpose; flown the coop.) The police didn’t have time to look for them, not unless foul play was suspected. From what she’d heard, private detectives were making a mint tracking them down.

  ‘Who was he looking for, then?’

  The question came from Dorrie. Lily had already turned away and was heading for the door. But when she heard Molly’s reply she stopped dead in her tracks and did a quick about-turn.

  ‘What now … ?’ Dorrie began in a petulant tone, but Lily cut her off with a fierce gesture.

  ‘What was that you said?’ she demanded, fixing her gaze on Molly’s upturned face, peering into her wide, tear-stained eyes. ‘Who did he say he was looking for?’

  Delayed by a breakdown in the Underground – he had sat fuming for half an hour stuck between St James’s Park and Westminster – Sinclair was late for his morning conference with the assistant commissioner. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time he limped down the corridor to Miss Ellis’s office with the crime report, and it was plain from the agitated look on Bennett’s secretary’s face when he opened the door that his absence had not gone unnoticed.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Chief Inspector.’

  Middle-aged and fluttery, Millicent Ellis had been a fixture at the Yard for almost as long as Sinclair himself. A small woman with mouse-coloured hair cut to fit her head like a cap and wire-rimmed glasses, she had served as Bennett’s secretary for the past dozen years and was devoted to his well-being.

  ‘Sir Wilfred’s hoping to get away this morning.’ Her tone was accusing. ‘He wants to drive down to the country this afternoon with his family.’

  Quelling an impulse to remark that it was all right for some – and a temptation to wonder aloud where the assistant commissioner had obtained the petrol for such an expedition – Sinclair had instead gained swift admission to the inner sanctum where, just as Miss Ellis had hinted, he found Bennett impatiently awaiting his arrival.

  ‘I won’t take up too much of your time, sir, but there are one or two items you might care to glance at. A V-2 came down in Stepney last night and the firemen had hardly left when the looters started picking through the rubble. Luckily our fellows were waiting for them. They nabbed half a dozen. They’ll be up in court this morning.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Bennett rubbed his hands.

  ‘And there was a murder over in Paddington. It happened the night before but wasn’t reported till yesterday. A private detective called Quill was the victim. I gather he was an unsavoury character. There’ll be more on that later.’

  While he was speaking, the chief inspector had passed the typed sheets he was carrying across the desk and his superior scanned them in silence for a few moments.

  ‘And what are your plans for Christmas, Angus?’ Bennett looked up over the top of his spectacles.

  ‘I was hoping to join the Maddens down in Highfield for a couple of days. They’ve very kindly invited me. But I don’t like to leave London with this Ash business still hanging. I want to be on call.’

  With a grunt, the assistant commissioner passed the report back to him.

  ‘So there’s been no more progress on that front?’

  ‘None as we speak. That photograph of him we published has drawn no response as yet and we’ve pretty well checked all hotels and boarding houses in the capital. There’s no trace of a Raymond Ash here, so I’ve ordered the hunt to be extended nationwide. Of course the fact that it’s Christmas doesn’t help. We’re already short-staffed and our men need some time off. But I don’t dare let up. He won’t.’

  The chief inspector sat brooding.

  ‘This is probably the last major case I’ll ever handle, and I’d hate it to end in failure. But every day that passes means he’s slipping a little further from our grasp.’

  Bennett coughed.

  ‘Well, now, I wouldn’t …’ he began, then stopped as the noise of argument sounded from the outer office. Miss Ellis’s voice could be heard raised in indignation.

  ‘Now just one moment…’

  Before either man could react, the door was flung open and Lily Poole stumbled in.

  ‘Good God!’ Sinclair stared at her, speechless.

  ‘What on earth-?’

  Out of uniform, wearing a coat of singular design, and with a woollen cap tugged down over her ears, the young policewoman was barely recognizable.

  ‘Sir …’ Lily gasped out the word as she came to a halt and from habit stood to attention. ‘Sir …’

  It was the only word she managed to utter. Hard on her heels, Miss Ellis appeared brandishing an object wrapped in greaseproof paper in both hands, red in the face and furious.

  ‘Sir, I don’t know who this young woman is or how she got up here but she forced her way in … sir, I’m sorry …’

  ‘Calm down, Miss Ellis, calm down …’

  Seeing his secretary’s distress, Bennett rose from behind his desk, patting the air with his hands to soothe her.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’ Miss Ellis’s throat had turned red and swollen like a turkey cock’s. ‘This young woman just dumped it on my desk.’

  ‘Remove it if you would.’ Bennett spoke gently. ‘I’ll deal with this.’

  He waited until she had gone out, shutting the door behind her, then turned to Lily.

  ‘Now who are you, miss? And what the devil are you doing here?’

  ‘Sir, this is Officer Poole.’ Sinclair found hi
s tongue at

  last.

  ‘Officer Poole … !’ Bennett gazed at her in seeming wonder. Then, with a shake of his head, he resumed his seat.

  ‘Explain yourself, Constable.’ Sinclair had risen to his feet. He confronted the young woman. ‘What do you mean by bursting in like this?’ He gestured at her attire. ‘You’re not even on duty.’

  ‘Sir, I’m sorry, sir, but I had to speak to you right away.’ Overcome by what she’d done, Lily had been temporarily struck dumb. ‘I tried ringing you from Paddington but they said you hadn’t got in yet, and then I tried Inspector Styles but his desk didn’t answer so I thought I’d better come down to the Yard myself, but when I got here I found you were in with the assistant commissioner and I didn’t know how long you’d be.’ She paused to take breath. ‘But I knew this was something you had to know and right away so I—’

  ‘Had to know? What did I have to know?’ Sinclair glared at her. The sight of Bennett, whom he was able to glimpse out of the corner of his eye, trying not to smile, only lent fuel to his anger.

  ‘What this bloke was doing that was topped over in Paddington two nights ago, a private detective called Quill—’

  ‘I know all about Quill.’ The chief inspector’s bark made Lily jump. ‘It’s in the crime report.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but not what he was doing before he was topped. I know ’cos I got it from his tart only half an hour ago and she hadn’t been interviewed yet…’

  Lily stopped, realizing what she’d just said. Sinclair’s gaze had hardened.

  ‘Are you telling me you’ve interfered with a CID investigation?’

  Lily stood abashed.

  ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Constable—?’

  ‘Chief Inspector …’ Bennett coughed theatrically. ‘I’m sure a reprimand is in order, but let’s hear what this officer has to say, shall we?’