Fifth Column

by Mike Hollow

  “It’s difficult to know how significant it is. He’d obviously like it cleared up.”

  “What I’m wondering is: could there be some kind of connection with Mary’s death? Maybe she’d found out something she wasn’t supposed to know. She was part of the company administration, so she’d know about what was going on, what was where, how things worked. What if she’d found out who was doing it? What if it was something more serious than Everson’s letting on? She might’ve found out something so dangerous that someone had to silence her. Or maybe she was involved herself – maybe there was some racket going on that she was mixed up in, and it turned sour.”

  “That sounds dramatic,” said Jago, “but anything’s possible, especially in times like these. At the moment we’ve no reason to think it’s anything more than a coincidence, but we’ll certainly have to look into it, and keep it to ourselves for the time being in view of what he said. This murder is our first priority, but we’d better take some action on his problems too. I want you to do some observation. If stuff’s being pilfered from Everson’s, chances are it’ll end up being sold by some shady character in a pub. Have a sniff around, find out whether anyone can supply that kind of thing – tell them you’re looking for a little present for your girlfriend.”

  “But I haven’t –”

  “Your imaginary girlfriend, Peter.”

  “Any suggestions where?”

  “Try the Railway Tavern in Scott Street – I’ve heard it sometimes hosts a bit of informal enterprise, you might say.”

  “On my own, sir?”

  “Yes. I’m sure I can trust you not to turn it into a pub crawl. You’ll need a clear head and sharp eyes.”

  “Thank you, sir – you can rely on me.”

  “I know – that’s why I’m asking you to do it. You don’t need me to nursemaid you all the time. I suggest you go down there tomorrow evening or Tuesday evening – and that you get an early night tonight and try to catch up on some sleep.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The telephone rang on Jago’s desk, and he jolted in his seat. It had been a quiet Sunday afternoon at the station – so quiet that he must have dozed off. His mind was still foggy as he picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. The voice on the other end was Tompkins’.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” said the station sergeant, “only I’ve got some visitors for you down here. Two ladies and a gentleman, to be precise. Would you like to come down for them?”

  “Certainly, but I’m not expecting anyone. Are they together?”

  “No, sir. At least, not the gentleman. The two ladies are together and he’s not, if you see what I mean, but they all want to see you. The gentleman’s called Wing Commander Dyers. From the RAF. Says you’re taking him out for a drink. I reckon that’s all they do in the RAF: lark about in planes and then prop up the bar. And chase the girls in between, of course.”

  “Ah, yes, thank you – I remember now. I am expecting him. And the ladies?”

  “They’re a Miss Hornby and a Miss Cartwright. Miss Hornby is the one who called from Everson Engineering on Friday morning, and I think the other one works there too, but I don’t know her from Adam – or I suppose I should say from Eve. Anyway, I’ve put the two of them in an interview room, and the RAF chap’s down here with me.”

  “Good. Ask him to be so kind as to wait, and tell him I’ll be with him as soon as I’ve finished with my other visitors.”

  Jago put the phone down and made his way to the interview room. He opened the door and found the two women seated at a table. The older of the two he recognized as Miss Hornby, but the younger one was a stranger. He entered the room, and Miss Hornby jumped to her feet.

  “Detective Inspector,” she began. “I wouldn’t normally visit a police station on a Sunday afternoon – in fact it’s not my habit to frequent them at any other time either – but an extremely distressing matter has arisen. Miss Cartwright here is one of our employees, and she’s confided in me about a most unpleasant incident – something that happened on Friday evening. It seems a man has been behaving in a disgraceful manner towards her. I insisted that she report it to the police, and she has agreed to do so. I hope you don’t mind me troubling you personally, but your sergeant said you were here.”

  “That’s fine,” said Jago. He turned to the other woman. “Miss Cartwright?”

  “Yes, Beatrice Cartwright. Would it be possible to speak to you alone?” She turned to her companion. “I hope you don’t mind, Miss Hornby, but I think I’d rather speak to the inspector in private.”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  “In that case, Miss Hornby, I’ll take you back to the station sergeant,” said Jago. “Please wait here until I return, Miss Cartwright.”

  He led Miss Hornby down the corridor to the front desk.

  “Sergeant Tompkins will look after you while I interview your colleague,” he said.

  Dyers was sitting a few feet from the front desk, leafing through a magazine. It struck Jago that in daylight and in calm surroundings he looked rather imposing in his uniform. The wing commander looked up with a hopeful expression when Jago appeared.

  “Sorry, old chap,” said Jago. “I must crave your patience for a short while. I have to speak to someone, but I’ll be with you as soon as possible. In the meantime, I’m sure if you speak nicely to Sergeant Tompkins here he’ll get you a cup of tea. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

  “Of course, sir,” said Tompkins. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “I shall leave Miss Hornby here in your safe keeping, then.” Jago turned back to Miss Hornby. “May I introduce you to my friend Wing Commander Dyers? As you can see, he’s an officer in the air force.”

  Dyers got up from his chair and nodded to her.

  “And this,” said Jago to Dyers, “is Miss Hornby, who works for a local engineering company and has come in on an important matter. I hope not to keep you both waiting too long.”

  When Jago returned to the interview room, Beatrice Cartwright was sitting just as he had left her. He took a seat facing her across the table.

  “So, Miss Cartwright, perhaps you could tell me exactly what this incident was. Take your time.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. To tell you the truth, there isn’t a lot to say. It was a man – he accosted me in a park.”

  “When was this?”

  “It was the day before yesterday.”

  “Do you recall the time?”

  “It was about ten past six. I was on my way home from work, and I’d stopped to sit down for a while in the Beckton Road recreation ground. I do that quite often, but nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He was wearing a dark coat and a cap, but it was pulled down and I couldn’t see much of his face. He was clean-shaven, but that’s about all I can say.”

  “And what exactly did this man do?”

  “He came and sat beside me – without being invited, I hasten to add – and started to say all sorts of strange things. He seemed to know all about me, as if he’d been spying on me.”

  “Did he give a name?”

  “Yes – Smith. But that’s not likely to be his real name, is it?”

  “Not if he was up to no good, it isn’t. Carry on, please.”

  “I tried to get away – I was on my own and I was frightened, and there was no one else there apart from him. I pushed him and even punched him, but he was too strong for me. He got his hand on my neck and was choking me.”

  “You mean this man tried to strangle you?” said Jago.

  Beatrice looked uncertain.

  “In a way, yes – he certainly had me by the throat. But now I think about it, I don’t think he was trying to kill me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I think he was just trying to frighten me, because later on, when he could have hurt me more, he didn’t.”

  “Later on?”

  “Yes, you see I managed t
o kick him and escape. I ran away, but he caught me again. But the thing is, he wasn’t violent then – he just talked.”

  “Talked about what?”

  “He started making all sorts of strange accusations – said I was spying, passing information to the enemy. He claimed he was working for something called the Radio Security Service. Do you know what that is?”

  Jago had heard of it, but he also believed it was a department of Military Intelligence and therefore not for discussion with members of the public.

  “What did he want?”

  Beatrice shuddered.

  “He may not have been violent, but he was still very menacing. He said I was in trouble, but he might be able to not file his report – as long as I gave him some money. He’s blackmailing me, Mr Jago.”

  “How much does he want?”

  “Twenty pounds. I’m to give it to him on Tuesday evening. And before you ask, he didn’t say where – he said he’ll contact me on Tuesday and tell me where to go. I might just be able to scrape the money together, but I’m worried that he’ll ask for more. What shall I do?”

  She began to cry.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Cartwright. We’ll deal with it. As soon as you hear from him on Tuesday, tell me where he’s told you to go and what time he wants you to be there.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I quite understand, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you – and on him.”

  Beatrice wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and smiled at him.

  “Thank you. Is that all you need to know?”

  “It’s all I need to know to sort Mr Smith out. But if you could spare me a few more minutes, there is something else I’d like to ask you about.”

  She looked puzzled, but nodded.

  “Yes, of course. What is it?”

  “It’s to do with the death of your colleague Mary Watkins.”

  “Ah, yes, poor Mary.”

  “We’re looking into it and trying to put together a picture of her from people who knew her. Did you have any direct dealings with her at Everson Engineering?”

  The change of subject seemed to be a relief to Beatrice. Her voice became calmer, more businesslike.

  “Yes, we worked on the same corridor. She was in welfare and personnel, and I’m a secretary in admin. I do some clerical work too. I suppose I knew her reasonably well.”

  “What was she like?”

  Beatrice spent a few moments in thought before answering.

  “If I had to sum her up in one word I’d say caring. I’ve only been working at Everson’s for a couple of years, and it’s always difficult finding your feet in a new company, but she took me under her wing and helped me settle in. She was the kind of person you could talk to. She certainly made a point of being nice to me and helping me through some tricky moments.”

  “What kind of tricky moments?”

  “Changes in my job, mainly. Before I joined Everson’s I’d had secretarial posts of one kind or another in three other companies, but here my role was more interesting. I’ve studied languages a bit, you see, but had never had much chance to use them in my work.”

  “Which languages?”

  “Just French and German, but when I was eighteen I had a chance to go over there and work for a bit, in both countries, so I got quite good at them. When I came here, Mr Everson asked me to deal directly with some of his foreign clients. He had customers and various business links with companies in France and Germany, and I handled most of the correspondence with them. Unfortunately, of course, the German side of things came to a halt last September, and then the fall of France put paid to the French side too.”

  “And Miss Watkins was helpful to you?”

  “Yes, she was very supportive. And before that, too. At one point I thought I might even lose my job, but she – well, she stuck up for me.”

  Beatrice stopped, as if uncertain whether to say more. She looked down and straightened the hem of her dress.

  “In what way did she stick up for you?”

  “It was all a little bit difficult,” said Beatrice. “It was to do with Miss Hornby. I don’t think she liked it when Mr Everson made me responsible for dealing with those clients in Germany and France. She said to me once that she thought perhaps I was too young to do a job like that.”

  “You mean she was questioning Mr Everson’s judgment?”

  “Oh, no, she would never do that. She just said something like it’s unusual for a girl of your age to take on a role like that, reporting directly to the managing director, and perhaps we should have waited until you were a bit older. I got the impression she might have said the same to him too, because not long after that he came out with something similar. But then, like I said, that side of the business pretty much collapsed anyway, so it never came to anything.”

  “But Mary helped you?”

  “Yes. I know she put in a good word for me with Mr Everson, because she told me. I think it might be thanks to her that I kept my job. And then when the war changed everything and there wasn’t enough work for me, she made sure the company found alternative duties for me. It’s thanks to her, really, that I’m still here. She got me transferred to general secretarial duties and record-keeping, which is what I do now.”

  “I see. So you were indebted to her.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Would you say you were happy in your work?”

  Beatrice paused, as if weighing up how to answer the question.

  “I suppose I am, on balance.”

  “Only on balance?”

  “Well, you see, I’ve never felt I fulfilled my potential. I thought I’d have an interesting career and earn a decent amount of money, but somehow it’s never happened. I’ve had a string of ordinary jobs, and now I’m in another one. All that’s changed, I suppose, is that I’ve come to expect it.”

  “Is the pay not good at Everson’s?”

  “It’s not bad for the kind of job I have, but it can be difficult to make ends meet. There’s certainly nothing left over for luxuries at the end of the month.”

  “What’s the record-keeping that you do?”

  “It’s in the stores. Stock in, stock out.”

  “I’ve heard that some things in the stores may have gone missing. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No, I can’t say I do.”

  “But these are items in the stores. Isn’t it your job to know?”

  “Not exactly, no. What I mean is it’s my responsibility to check items in and out, and to maintain a ledger of deliveries and items signed out.”

  “So wouldn’t you notice if things started going missing?”

  “No, I wouldn’t really, not unless it was a big quantity suddenly disappearing. My job is just to make sure everything’s recorded and signed for. I don’t do the stock control or reconcile the amounts coming in and going out: I just compile a weekly report and pass it to Miss Hornby. She expects me to keep careful records, but what she does with the information is her business, not mine.”

  “And how do you get on with Miss Hornby now? Has your relationship improved?”

  Beatrice seemed to hesitate before answering the question.

  “You won’t tell her this, will you? Only I don’t want to speak out of turn. But if you want an honest answer, I’d say no, I can’t say it has. I still don’t think she trusts me, and for that matter I don’t trust her.”

  “But you confided in her about this incident at the recreation ground. Doesn’t that suggest you trust her?”

  “No. I only told her because she said she reckoned my mind wasn’t on the job and she wanted to know why I wasn’t concentrating. I thought I was heading for more trouble, so I told her what had happened. It wasn’t out of choice. If I’d wanted to confide in someone I’d have chosen Mary.”

  “Mary trusted you.”

  “Yes, she did. Miss Hornby doesn’t, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me either. But if you ask me why that is – well, I really don’t kn
ow.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “Good afternoon,” said Dyers to Miss Hornby when Jago had left them. He accompanied the words with a slight forward inclination of his head, a form of residual bow and his habitual expression of formality.

  “Good afternoon,” she said. “I understand you’re awaiting the detective inspector’s pleasure. I’m sorry my colleague and I have taken up his time – and yours.”

  “Think nothing of it, my dear lady,” he said.

  He cast an appraising glance over her appearance – discreetly, he hoped. Soberly dressed, and with a no-nonsense look to her face. A little past the first bloom of youth, he thought – rather like himself, in fact. What people used to call a handsome woman. His few male friends who weren’t in the RAF seemed to envy him his lot in life, surrounded as he was every day by immaculately turned out young WAAFs, but most of them were so flighty it could be – well, frankly, it could be tedious.

  “I do hope it hasn’t been too tedious for you waiting here,” she said.

  He was startled – how curious that she had just said the very word he was thinking.

  “Not at all,” he said. He held out a hand to shake. “Roy Dyers – call me Roy.”

  She took his hand and shook it.

  “Miss Hornby – that’s what most people call me, but my name is Winifred.”

  “Charming,” said Dyers.

  He closed his magazine and laid it down on the table beside his chair.

  “Don’t let me stop you reading,” said Miss Hornby.

  “Not at all. I was just leafing through it to pass the time. I thought I might have to wait around for Inspector Jago if I came to the station. I’m supposed to be going out for a drink with him once he gets away from his duties.”

  “Ah, yes. He said you were his friend. Do you have any connection to the police?”