Fifth Column

by Mike Hollow

  “We’ll be as quick as we can,” said Jago. “We’d just like to ask a few more questions about your sister-in-law.”

  He took a spoonful of sugar from the sugar bowl and stirred it into his cup, then turned to Susan.

  “Very kind of you, Mrs Fletcher. This is such a nice house. Your husband was telling me you inherited it from your parents.”

  Susan shot a glance at her husband. Jago thought he detected both surprise and irritation in her expression.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” said Fletcher. “He already knew, so I assumed you must have told him.”

  Susan switched her eyes back to Jago.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” she said.

  “Not necessarily anything,” said Jago. “But is it the case?”

  “Yes, if you must know. I told you my parents died three years ago. It was their home, and I grew up here.”

  “Did they leave it just to you, or to you and your sister?”

  “I’m not sure I like what you’re implying, Inspector.”

  “I’m not implying anything, Mrs Fletcher – simply asking.”

  “They left it to both of us.”

  “And did you live here alone for three years until your marriage?”

  “Yes, but I really can’t see what the relevance of all this is.”

  “I just wondered whether your sister had come to live here with you. After all, a big place like this – she could have lived here for nothing instead of paying rent all that time somewhere else.”

  “The reason for that is very simple, Inspector. My sister preferred her own company, and she wanted to live on her own, in her own place.”

  “Did you buy her out? I mean, if she had no intention of living here –”

  Susan interrupted him.

  “Mr Jago, I was twenty years old when my parents died. What do you think I would have bought her out with? I didn’t have any money. Mary was quite happy for me to live here, and she still owned the house jointly with me.”

  “I see. But now that she has unfortunately died, I assume the whole property belongs to you.”

  “I suppose so, yes, but I haven’t had time even to think about that. It’s of no importance to me.”

  “And strictly speaking, I suppose that now you’re married, the house belongs to you and your husband.”

  Fletcher jumped from his seat.

  “Now look here, Inspector,” he said. “You’ve tried that line once already and I told you I didn’t like what you were insinuating.”

  Susan stood too and looked angrily at Fletcher.

  “Have you been discussing this behind my back already?” she said.

  Jago remained on the sofa and spoke quietly.

  “Come now, Mr and Mrs Fletcher, these are perfectly normal questions in an enquiry like this, and I’m not trying to insinuate anything. Please sit down.”

  The couple complied, but with an air of reluctance. Jago sensed an atmosphere of residual tension between them. Fletcher reached for the silver case in his pocket and selected a cigarette. He lit it and drew in the smoke. As he exhaled, Jago could tell that this time he had chosen one of the Turkish variety.

  “Must you smoke those ghastly things, George?” said Susan. “They make the place smell like a – well, like an unsavoury place.”

  “Brothel? Is that the word you were looking for?” said Fletcher. “Well, you’re wrong. These are perfectly respectable in Turkey. I’ve enjoyed them ever since I first smoked one in a very fine hotel in Constantinople during the British occupation.”

  He smiled across the room at Jago and Cradock.

  “I’m sure the inspector will recall, although perhaps not his colleague, who is probably too young to know about it, like my wife. It was in 1919, after the Armistice of Mudros. That marked the end of hostilities with the Ottoman Empire, and I was on the first of Sir John Ellerman’s ships to arrive there –”

  Jago judged it prudent to nip a potentially long story in the bud.

  “Thank you, Mr Fletcher, but as you said, you do have to get back to work, and I don’t want to detain you unduly.”

  “Of course, Inspector, please carry on,” said Fletcher. He gave a casual wave of the cigarette, as if granting permission, and then picked a strand of tobacco from between his teeth and discarded it on the carpet.

  “I recall you telling me that you and Mrs Fletcher first met on a blind date,” said Jago. “When was that?”

  “It was in April,” said Fletcher. “Just after we first heard the Germans had invaded Norway. Chamberlain said we were sending the Navy in, and I remember thinking there’d be trouble. It was mad to think we could stop the Germans when their communication lines were so much shorter than ours. We lost a lot of ships, and he lost his job – and that was the end of the poor old Umbrella Man, wasn’t it?”

  “So something of a whirlwind romance – you and Mrs Fletcher, I mean.”

  “I suppose it was,” said Fletcher. “Wouldn’t you say so, my dear?”

  Susan seemed to have recovered her composure. She smiled at Jago.

  “Yes, I rather think it was. But it’s all worked out well, and I’ve no regrets. You must excuse me though, Inspector, if I sounded a little on edge just now. It’s just that I – well, not to put too fine a point upon it, I don’t feel safe.”

  Her eyes darted back to Fletcher, and it seemed to Jago as though she were hesitant about continuing, but her husband simply stared at her, his face expressionless.

  “It’s my nerves, you see,” she said. “These air raids have affected me, I think. I know we’re all going through it, and many people have suffered far worse than I have, but I can’t help it. The bombs make me jittery.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable,” said Jago.

  “I try to keep calm, to pretend there’s nothing the matter, because otherwise I’m afraid that I’ll go to pieces.”

  “I noticed that you took the news of Mary’s death very calmly when we were here on Friday.”

  “Yes. That’s it, exactly. When people meet me they probably think I’m the picture of serenity, but it’s just what I do to hold myself together when I get the jitters. Underneath it’s very different.”

  “How did you get on with your sister? You mentioned before that you didn’t see a lot of each other. Was that by choice?”

  “I don’t know whether it was by choice,” said Susan. “It was just something that happened. I think I told you she was older than me.”

  “Yes – five years older.”

  “Precisely. That’s quite a gap when you’re young, you know. I don’t recall us playing together. I think my relationship with her was probably the same as it is for any girl with an older sister. She always knew things I didn’t know, was allowed to do things I wasn’t allowed to do. And then of course it got to the stage where she’d done things that she wasn’t allowed to do too – things that I didn’t understand. She was a big girl and I was just a kid. Whatever I learned to do, whether it was swimming or riding a bike or my twelve times table, she’d already done it. Sometimes it felt as though I didn’t really exist, I was just her shadow. Even the clothes I wore were mostly things she’d already worn and grown out of.”

  “So you wouldn’t say you were close?”

  “Close? I don’t think there was ever a question of us being close. She was always too far ahead of me. We were in the same house, but it seemed as though she was living in a different world to me, in a place I hadn’t arrived at yet. It felt as though I could see her further down the road but would never catch up with her.”

  “And when you grew up?”

  “I suppose I caught up with her then. You might even say I overtook her, when I met George and got married, but it didn’t change the way I felt.”

  Susan got out of her chair and crossed the room to her husband. He stood and put his arms round her as she laid her head on his shoulder. Fletcher spoke over her to Jago.

  “You may think this is a
nice house and everything’s just fine here, Inspector, but as you can see, my wife’s life has not been easy. Her mind is fragile. That’s why I want to look after her.”

  Susan eased herself out of his embrace and stood beside him, holding his hand, to face Jago.

  “Perhaps I should have burst into tears when you told me Mary was dead, Inspector,” she said. “Perhaps I should have screamed. You must think me cold-hearted, but it’s not that. It’s just that sometimes things happen to you in life, things change. I had plenty of tears to shed when I was a child, but now…”

  She sighed. Her face looked tired.

  “Maybe we all start with a different number – some people have enough to last a lifetime, others run out when they’re still young. I don’t think I had many when I started.”

  CHAPTER 28

  At first Jago wasn’t sure he’d heard it, but it sounded like a quiet knock on the CID office door.

  “Come in,” he said, raising his voice enough to ensure it would be heard in the corridor outside.

  The door opened slowly and a head poked round it.

  “May I have a word, sir?”

  Jago recognized the face of War Reserve Constable Price.

  “Yes. Come in, sit yourself down. A word about what?”

  Price came in, treading gently on the floor as if he were entering a solemn gathering that would be disturbed if he made a floorboard squeak. He sat down on the vacant chair in front of Jago’s desk.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s to do with the case you’re investigating – that woman who was found dead in Tinto Road.”

  “It was you and Ray Stannard who were first on the scene, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “He told me you’re an old soldier, same as me. Were you in France?”

  “Well, actually, sir –”

  There was a brief silence. Price seemed to be struggling with something in his mind.

  “The thing is, I think I might have misled Ray a little,” he said. “You see, I wasn’t actually in France – in fact I never left England. I was conscripted in 1916, but when they found out I’d done a bit of boxing before the war they made me a physical training instructor. I’m sure you’ll remember the Army Gymnastic Staff, sir.”

  Jago nodded, recalling endless training in bayonet fighting, but he said nothing.

  “So I never got anywhere near the front,” Price continued. “My job was to get soldiers fit while they were alive. I never saw any dead ones, and I’m glad I didn’t.”

  Price looked down into his lap. Jago wondered why the man seemed reluctant to catch his eye.

  “I see,” said Jago. “That would explain why you weren’t looking too good on Friday morning after you’d found that woman’s body. But there’s nothing to be ashamed of – there were plenty of people in the Army in the Great War who never saw a corpse on a battlefield.”

  Price nodded but did not lift his head.

  “Besides, front-line experience or not, no normal person would enjoy finding a young girl like that murdered.”

  Jago’s words seemed to have a physical effect on Price. He jolted, and when he looked up Jago could see his mouth was quivering and tears were welling in his eyes.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I-I’m sorry, sir,” said Price. “It’s just –” He seemed to be struggling again to bring himself under control. “It’s just what you said then, about that girl. I’ve had some terrible news.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded newspaper.

  “Have you seen today’s papers?” he said, his voice breaking.

  “Not yet, no,” said Jago.

  Price spread the newspaper out on the desk before him. Jago scanned the headline: “83 children die as Huns sink liner in storm”.

  “See that, sir? Eighty-three children. All drowned. My wife and I had a visit yesterday – a man from the council. He said –” Again Price was unable to continue. He breathed in deeply before speaking. “He said our children were lost – both of them.”

  Jago leaned forward across the desk and looked Price in the eye.

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I can’t imagine a worse thing.”

  “Just nine and seven they were, just kids. I’m worried my wife might lose her mind. Do you have children, sir?”

  “No,” said Jago. “I can’t begin to know what it must be like for you. I can only offer you my sincere condolences.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Price took a couple of deep breaths and straightened himself up in the chair.

  “I’ll be all right, sir. Just give me a moment. I need to tell you why I came here.”

  Jago waited until Price regained a degree of composure. The constable dragged the back of his hand across his eyes quickly to remove the tears.

  “It’s about that woman, the one we found on the bomb-site. I’m sorry I didn’t say this at the time, but when I tell you about it I think you’ll understand why. The thing is, when I saw her body, I remembered her. What I mean to say is I recognized her. That’s why I was feeling queasy. The last time I’d seen her she’d looked so full of life.”

  “Do you mean you knew her?”

  “No. It was her appearance that I recognized. That red hair and the green coat. My mother used to say you should never wear red and green together, but on her it looked very attractive – the time before when I saw her, I mean, not when she was dead.”

  “When did you see her last?”

  Having to concentrate on details seemed to be helping Price to recover.

  “I’ve only seen her once, before the war started, but when I saw her lying there I was sure it was the same woman. I didn’t know her name or anything about her, but I’d seen her out walking and it had stuck in my memory.”

  “When exactly before the war was this?”

  “It was last year, sometime in the summer. I can’t remember exactly when. She was with a man I used to know slightly, although I’m not in contact with him now. The thing I clearly recall is that they looked on decidedly friendly terms, as you might say.”

  “His name?”

  “It was Robert or Richard or something, but I can’t remember his surname.”

  “What can you tell me about this man?”

  “Very little, really. He was one of a few people I knew some years ago in a couple of organizations you might have heard of – one was called the Link and the other was the Imperial Fascist League.”

  Jago looked askance at Price and raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” said Price. “‘Fascist’ is a dirty word these days, but it wasn’t the same then. People had sincerely held views. I used to believe in some of it myself, but of course I don’t now.”

  “Did this come up when you applied to join the War Reserve?”

  “No, they never asked, so I didn’t mention it. Later on I kept quiet, because I was worried I might be sacked, but now I realize I have to tell you, because of that poor woman.”

  “What matters now is that you’re a police officer, and by telling me this you’re doing your duty. I don’t hold a man’s past against him. I’ve never had much time for Mosley myself, but I know there were some in the police before the war who did.”

  “And why shouldn’t they? All this trouble we’ve got now is because of the way we treated the Germans at Versailles. All those reparations we forced on them after the Armistice – that war was just as much our fault as Germany’s.”

  “I can’t agree with you there,” said Jago. “If they’d left Belgium alone, there wouldn’t have been a war. We didn’t intervene when the Austrians attacked Serbia, and we only declared war on the Germans after they’d declared war on France and invaded Belgium.”

  “I don’t want to argue about who started the war – I just thought we could’ve learned a lot from the way Mussolini and Hitler were solving problems like unemployment.”

  “Perhaps, but what about that report the For
eign Office published last year? You know the one I mean? The one that said the German government was torturing Jews in concentration camps. I don’t want us to learn from that.”

  “That’s just hate propaganda by our government. Why should we believe what they say?”

  “Why indeed? You could be right, but time will tell. Time and evidence. Now, leave the history aside and get on with telling me about this man of yours.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sorry.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Tallish, average weight, I’d say. In his late thirties. That’s all I can remember, really.”

  “Hair colour?”

  Price thought for a moment.

  “Dark, I think.”

  “Was he married?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, we weren’t close friends: he was just someone I knew, more like a casual acquaintance.”

  “That’s helpful. There’s someone I’d like to eliminate from our enquiries, so would you be willing to come with me and identify him?”

  “You mean an identity parade?”

  “No, I just want you to take a look from a safe distance and tell me if you know him. He won’t even know you’re doing it.”

  “I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  “Yes, but you’re a police officer: I’m asking you to come, but if you prefer it I’ll order you.”

  “All right, I’ll come.”

  “Good. Now, if you’ll go and wait for me at the front door I’ll be with you in a few minutes. I just need to make a telephone call.”

  Ten minutes later Jago was parking his car on a street in Forest Gate. Price was in the passenger seat.

  “You stay here and don’t show your face if you’re concerned about being seen. I’m going to that building down the road there and I’m going to ask a man who works in it to step outside with me for a brief question. You should be able to see him clearly from here. All you need to do is take a good look at him and see if you recognize him. A couple of minutes should be enough, then I’ll go back in with him for a few moments before I come back to you. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Price.

  Jago crossed the road and mounted a few steps to the building’s entrance. He disappeared inside and shortly afterwards emerged with another man, as he had said. Price watched from the car, keeping a hand over the lower part of his face in case the man saw him. In due course the detective inspector went back into the building and then re-emerged and returned to the car.