Merlin at War

by Mark Ellis

  “Yes, Miller, what the hell is it? Can’t you see I’m enjoying a little peace?”

  “Sorry, sir, but it’s that South African bloke on the blower. Says it’s really urgent.”

  “Tell him to call back later.” Beecham put the book down and shook his head. His interest had been piqued. “No, keep him on the line. I’ll be there now.”

  * * *

  After he’d telephoned Tomlinson to arrange their Saturday morning meeting, Powell spent Friday morning at the office of an old school friend, who also happened to be his solicitor. The subject of divorce was discussed at length and Powell found it a relief to have a practical discussion about what it would entail.

  At two o’clock he caught a train to Cholsey, where he visited his parents at the Elizabethan farmhouse where they now spent most of their time. It was depressing to learn that his mother’s relief at his safe return from Crete was an emotion far less heartfelt than her feelings of distaste and disgust at his pending divorce. His father said little, as usual, and his parents’ half-hearted invitation to him to spend the night was declined without complaint. He got back to Marylebone Station after seven o’clock and stopped in the buffet for a snack that would suffice as his dinner.

  Powell got home very tired just before eight and decided to have another leisurely bath. He went into the bathroom and set the taps running slowly so that he had time to make himself a cup of tea. As he passed through the living room on his way to the kitchen, he suddenly felt dizzy and fell into the nearest chair. A tear started trickling down his cheek. That Celia! Damned Celia! He’d never have believed his wife’s departure would affect him so much.

  In Greece and Crete he’d given very little thought to her. Every week, up until the battle, he’d written her a short letter not so different from the perfunctory ones he’d sent his parents from boarding school. He wasn’t allowed to say anything about where he was or what his division was doing. The limited subjects had been the weather, the food and his fellow officers. But at heart, Powell now realised his feelings for her were much stronger than he’d thought.

  He suddenly became aware of the running taps. The bath must be close to overflowing. He stood up, found that the dizziness had passed and got back to the bathroom just in time. He decided to forget about the tea and just get in the water. He stepped in, immersed his body, lay back and closed his eyes.

  He really must get a grip, he told himself. There were plenty more fish in the sea and he and Celia had never really been right for each other. They had different outlooks on life. He was just taking things so badly because he was in a fragile state after his Cretan experiences. He would enjoy a good soak, followed by a good night’s sleep. In the morning Powell would deliver his letter and he would be free of that burden. Then perhaps he’d ring Wentworth and book himself a round of golf. That would get his mind off things and clear the cobwebs. He was just reaching for the soap and wondering where his golf clubs were when he heard the doorbell ringing and some muffled words on the speaking tube.

  “Damn it!” He thought for a moment of staying where he was but then, with a grunt, hauled himself out of the bath and grabbed a towel. His flat was on the ground floor. He ignored the speaking tube, which was ancient and didn’t work very well, and poked his head out of his front door. He could see the shape of a man through the stained glass of the street entrance. He looked like he was carrying something.

  “Who is it?”

  “Delivery for Mr Powell.”

  “I haven’t ordered anything but… oh, well. Better see what you have.” Powell pulled the towel tighter around him and tiptoed over the linoleum of the lobby floor to let the man in.

  * * *

  Merlin’s cuckoo clock sounded the 10th hour. Bridges was due back now. As soon as he arrived, they would head off on their evening outing. Goldberg was going to the Ritz too but it had been agreed that he would arrive on his own and operate independently. For once, Robinson had been happy to miss out.

  Merlin had managed a quick trip home for supper with Sonia. She’d said she wasn’t feeling well but had waved away his concern. “It’s only a little tummy bug. Off you go to work, although I must say it’s a strange type of work that takes you to the Ritz bar.” Sergeant Bridges had also nipped home to Battersea to see Iris and kiss the baby goodnight.

  It had been a glorious early summer’s day, so welcome after the terrible weather of recent weeks. There was nothing quite like an English summer’s day, Merlin thought, though to be fair he’d never seen any other type of summer’s day. His father had often waxed lyrical about Spanish summer nights. Perhaps one day he would get to see one for himself. When the war was over he ought to go and visit his Spanish relatives with Sonia. He had his father’s extended family to see but, most importantly, there was his sister, Mary.

  She had gone on a holiday to Spain almost 10 years before and had met and fallen in love with her second cousin, Jorge. They married and Mary had become Maria. There were now three children and they ran a café in a small village outside Corunna. They had survived the traumatic years of the Civil War and were happy as far as Merlin knew. There hadn’t been a letter for a while. Spain was a neutral country but everyone knew that Franco was backing Hitler and Mussolini. Perhaps he’d banned mail to England? In the last letter he’d received, nearly a year before, Mary had been begging him to get out of England and join her in Spain. She had claimed to be living in the safest part of the country – Galicia was Franco’s homeland. Merlin had never considered going but he realised that if he had, he’d never have met Sonia. What tricks fate played and how easily lives could take completely different paths.

  There were a couple of new folders in his in-tray. He decided to leave them until tomorrow. He thought of Edgar Powell and wondered what he’d done with his letter. Powell had left him his telephone number and Merlin rummaged through the desk in search of it. He was unsuccessful but on opening the address book on his desk found the number there from years before. He rang but there was no answer. It was Friday night after all. With luck, Powell was out enjoying himself and putting that woman Celia behind him.

  Bridges finally appeared at the door. “There you are, Sam! Ten minutes late. Couldn’t break yourself away from the family, eh? I see that Iris has togged you out quite well. Is that your Sunday suit?”

  “It is, sir. Sorry, but our household doesn’t quite run to black tie.”

  “Neither does mine.” Merlin was in the work suit he’d been wearing all day. “Come on then. Might as well walk it. It won’t take long.”

  “You did make clear to Goldberg that he was to go to the upstairs bar, not the downstairs one?”

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure I made it clear.”

  “It’s just that the downstairs place is a…”

  Merlin nodded knowingly. “I understand, Sergeant. Sonia went there by mistake the other night. It’s mostly for people who like their own sex, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s known as the Pink Sink, apparently.”

  “Is it indeed? Charming. Well, let’s hope Goldberg follows his instructions correctly. Now, vamos.”

  * * *

  A haze of smoke floated over the chattering clientele of the bar. Bridges led Merlin through the melée towards the counter. When they arrived, Merlin turned and looked for Goldberg, whom he soon happily spotted in a far corner of the room, chatting to a sultry-looking brunette. It was clear that Goldberg had seen him too.

  Merlin leaned back against the bar and surveyed the room. A good half of the customers were in uniform. British service uniforms predominated but there was a fair mix of others. He recognised Canadian, Polish and Czech insignia. There were also a few Free French officers sporting the uniforms with which he was now familiar. Some of the civilians were in black tie or evening dress but there were others, like him, who were less glamorously attired. There appeared to be a roughly even split of men and women.

  Bridges managed to find his barman but the hubbub at the counter
made proper conversation impossible. The man found the policemen a reasonably secluded table in a corner of the room and promised to join them there as soon as he was free. This turned out to be 15 minutes later.

  The barman was a short and plump Scotsman with heavily oiled black hair. He shifted nervously in his seat. “I can’t stay here for long. The manager will have my guts for garters if he sees me taking a break.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr…”

  “Laurie. Michael Laurie. I’ve only had this job since November. I’m hoping to keep it.”

  “We only need a minute or two of your time. If there is any difficulty with your manager, we’ll have a word.”

  Laurie shook his head unhappily. “My boss won’t enjoy the fact that you policemen are here at all. So let’s get on.”

  “Sergeant Bridges says that earlier today you recognised someone in a photograph he showed you. A young lady called Bridget Healy.”

  “I did.”

  “We’d just like to know if you can recognise among tonight’s customers anyone who mixed here with Miss Healy.”

  “I’ll need a proper look. Give me a moment.” Laurie stood up and walked off into the crowd. Ten minutes later he returned with a satisfied smile on his face. “There’s two of her friends over there near the entrance. You see that fellow in a French uniform? The one laughing his head off?”

  Merlin found the tall French officer Laurie meant. He was obviously having a very jolly time in the company of a fair-haired, non-military man.

  “I do.”

  “Seen him and his friend with that young lady several times. I remember the Frenchman because he’s a good tipper. I remember the other fellow because he’s not. He’s an Australian or something. Some kind of colonial.”

  “Anyone else, Mr Laurie?”

  “No, just those two.”

  Merlin thanked the barman and released him back to his job.

  “Get all that, Bernie?” Merlin spoke without looking behind him to where Goldberg had been loitering.

  “Yup.”

  “We could either be heavy-handed and take the men back to the Yard for questioning, or we could be more subtle. Why don’t you wander over and see if you can get into conversation with them? I’m afraid that after all my years in the service, I have the taint of the Yard about me and Sam does too. You are different. A foreigner in a strange land, like them. Might open up to someone like you. Are you game?”

  “Leave it to me.” Goldberg grabbed the bourbon and soda he had deposited on a nearby shelf and sauntered over to the two men.

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 10

  Saturday 14 June

  London

  Before going to bed on Friday night, Sonia had drunk a mug of Ovaltine, a soothing English night-time drink she had recently discovered, and had slept straight through, undisturbed by Merlin’s late return. When she awoke at just after eight, whatever bug she had was gone and she felt good. Merlin was still fast asleep, his mouth making those little putt-putt noises she found so endearing. She let him sleep on – she had a chore to do.

  Sonia’s parents had managed to escape from Poland soon after her and were now living with relatives in Manchester. Her mother’s last letter was due a reply. Sonia went to the desk in the drawing room and picked up one of Frank’s pens. The main subject of her mother’s latest letter had been how her father, a respected engineer back in Poland, was still struggling to find work in England and was becoming ill with frustration. His specialism was aerodynamics and he had been trying to get a job in the aircraft industry but people were loath to take on a foreigner in such a crucial and sensitive war industry.

  Sonia and her brother had discussed this several times. They found it ironic that their father, desperate to use his specialised skills to help the war effort, was having such difficulties as a foreigner, while his equally foreign son had been welcomed with open arms by the RAF. There had to be some way that Jan’s impressive war service record could boost their father’s work prospects but they hadn’t been able to devise it yet.

  There was little more Sonia could do than write a letter encouraging hope. Once she had finished it, and addressed and stamped the envelope, she made some tea and toast and took a tray into the bedroom.

  Merlin’s eyes cracked open as he heard the door close. “And to what do I owe this luxury?” He levered himself upright and smiled at Sonia.

  “You owe it to being the most wonderful man in the world.” She leaned across and kissed him on the lips.

  “Feeling better today, are we?”

  “Much better, thank you, darling. Let’s go for a walk in the park after breakfast. I’ve got the morning off. It looks like it’s going to be a lovely day.”

  “I’ll have to go into the Yard at some point but, yes, a walk in the park would be good.”

  Merlin drank his tea and ate his toast. He put on the casual brown trousers and matching shirt that Sonia had bought him in a recent sale at Swan & Edgar and which he hadn’t yet worn. They were just going out of the door when the telephone rang.

  Merlin looked apologetically at Sonia. “I’d better take it.”

  “Sergeant. You got home all right then? Did you…? What…? Oh my God. How…? All right, I’ll be with you shortly. I’m only a few minutes away. The poor man.” Merlin put down the receiver.

  “Frank, you’ve gone quite white. What on earth…?”

  * * *

  Edgar Powell’s eyes stared up blankly at Merlin. His body lay naked and inert in the scummy bath water, more like a waxwork than a dead human being. Merlin sighed, wishing that, for dignity’s sake, his friend’s body could be taken out of the water and covered up. The correct procedure had to be observed, however. Nothing must be touched and what might be a crime scene had to be preserved. “So, is this exactly how you found your husband, Mrs Powell?”

  Celia Powell’s baby face was streaked with mascara stains. The tears had stopped flowing for the moment but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. Merlin turned to Mr Herbert, the porter of Powell’s apartment block, who was standing next to Bridges at the bathroom door. “She came to get me straightaway, Chief Inspector. I tried to calm her down, then headed over here. I used to be in the military police years ago, so I know the score. I made sure she didn’t disturb the scene when we came in.”

  Herbert looked every inch a former soldier. He reminded Merlin of Bridges’ father-in-law, an ex-regimental sergeant major.

  “Well done, Mr Herbert. Are you in permanent residence here?”

  “I have a room at the back of the flats opposite, which I also look after. I’d just got back there this morning when Mrs Powell came to get me. My mother is unwell and I went to see her yesterday morning and ended up staying the night.”

  “So you can’t tell us anything much about what might have happened?”

  “Sorry, sir. No.”

  “Do you know whether Mrs Powell might have disturbed the scene before she came to find you?”

  “I didn’t ask her that, sir. She’ll have to tell you herself. If she can.”

  Merlin turned his attention back to Edgar’s wife. She shuddered and choked back more tears before removing the handkerchief she was holding to her mouth. She had the sort of pale-porcelain, baby-doll looks that seemed to appeal to many Englishmen but did nothing for Merlin. She shook her head. “I didn’t touch anything. Except him.” She spoke in a soft high register. As Merlin knew from Eddie Powell, the sweet little girl looks and manner disguised a selfish, hard and predatory woman.

  “I tried to speak to him on the telephone yesterday. He and I had decided to go our separate ways. We had discussed some of the practicalities but there were a few items we had not yet covered. I wanted to come over and discuss them. I couldn’t get through to him so decided to come over in person this morning.”

  Merlin asked Herbert to man the front door while he escorted Mrs Powell into the drawing room. Celia seated herself on a wicker armchair. Merlin and Bridges remained stand
ing. He had met Celia a few times with Eddie a long time ago but she gave no sign of recognition. She muffled more sobs in her handkerchief then took a deep breath. “I came in. I still have a key, of course, but the door was unlocked.”

  Merlin had already noticed that no damage appeared to have been done to the door or its lock.

  “I entered. As you can see, the place is a mess. There was an empty cardboard box by the door for some reason and ornaments, lamps, papers, everything all over the place. I called out. There was no reply. I went… I went into the bedroom. More mess but no sign of Edgar. Then I went into the bathroom. For a moment I thought he was sleeping. He sometimes does… did that, you know. In the bath, I mean. I shook him. No response. I looked at his face more closely. Then I realised… I realised that he was…” More tears flowed until she pulled herself together again. “I’m sorry, I’m being silly. It’s not as if we loved each other any more.”

  Merlin looked her in the face as he recalled his recent conversations with Powell. “We were friends, you know, your husband and I.”

  “Oh yes, Merlin. I thought the name was familiar. You were pals when he was wasting his time in the police, weren’t you? You’ve kept your looks, I must say. I’m afraid Edgar wasn’t ageing so well.” She opened her handbag and found her compact.

  “God, I look a real mess.” She applied some powder and lipstick and pouted into the mirror. “A little better.” A weak smile parted her lips and she sat up in her chair.

  “I believe Eddie had a safe in the flat, Mrs Powell?”