Fifth Column

by Mike Hollow

  “Do forgive me, Sam,” answered Dorothy. “I should have explained. John is investigating a murder case at the moment, and it seems to have some connection with RAF Hornchurch.”

  “Murder? Anyone I know?”

  “I doubt it,” said Jago. “It’s a Miss Mary Watkins.”

  “Mary Watkins? You don’t say…”

  “You mean you know her?”

  “No, I can’t exactly say I know her, but I did dance with her – at the station, a couple of weeks ago. I remember her name – I knew a girl at home who looked a little like her called Mary Watson, almost the same, so I guess that’s made it stick in my mind.”

  “That’s very interesting. Did you just dance, or did you have a conversation?”

  “We did talk a little, yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I remember some of what she said. It’s always the same with your English girls – it’s like a language lesson. She said something was giving her gyp, and I had to ask her what it meant. I think she said it means it was giving her a hard time or giving her pain. She said she was glad to get up and have a dance and a move around at last, because she’d hurt her back and it was giving her gyp.”

  “Do you recall anything else she said?”

  “Yes, I remember her commenting on my accent. Just like you did, really, because of the uniform. As soon as I opened my mouth she assumed I must be Canadian, then when I said I was from the USA she was really surprised, and she said what on earth was I doing here fighting someone else’s war.”

  “A reasonable question: I asked it myself.”

  “Yes. I said it was because I thought it was my duty, and I’d been brought up to do my duty. But that seemed to set her off. She said she’d had enough of duty. She’d been a dutiful daughter, a dutiful sister, a dutiful employee, a dutiful everything, she said, but from now on the only duty she was going to do was to herself. I tried to keep it light, and said something like, ‘Not planning to become a dutiful wife any time soon, then?’ – just to make conversation, you understand – but that seemed to set her off again. She said, ‘No, my sister’s the one playing that game. Just to spite me, I wouldn’t be surprised, the smug little madam.’ ‘You don’t get on, then?’ I said, and she said, ‘Too true, matey.’ That’s another word I love – it’s so British.”

  “Did she happen to say why they didn’t get on?”

  “No, she just said, ‘I’m going to wipe that smirk off that sweet little holier-than-thou face of hers. I’ll teach her to look down on me.’ I remember that, because it didn’t sound like a very sisterly thing to say.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, that’s all I remember. By that time I was thinking this was all a bit serious, not something I wanted to get involved in at a Saturday night dance. So I confess I just finished that dance and said ‘Thank you, ma’am’, and then avoided her for the rest of the evening.”

  CHAPTER 38

  The next morning was an early start. Jago had written down a list of people and given it to Cradock, saying these were the people they needed to see during the day. He planned to catch Susan Fletcher and her husband at home before George left for work. Cradock was still suppressing a yawn when they arrived at the front door.

  Jago knocked, and it opened.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” said Fletcher. “Up with the lark today, eh? I’m still eating my breakfast, so please excuse me. Was it my wife you wanted to see, or me?”

  “It’s both of you, actually. It won’t take long.”

  “I should hope not – I’ve got to be off to work in about twenty minutes.”

  “It’s just a brief word with you. I’ll do my best not to detain you.”

  “Mind if I finish my toast while we’re talking, then?”

  “Of course, please do.”

  They went into the house and found Mrs Fletcher already sitting in the living room. She wasn’t eating.

  “Good morning, Mrs Fletcher,” said Jago. “I’ll come straight to the point, if you don’t mind. The last time we met, you seemed a little agitated. You talked about the gap between you and your sister, and the difficulties that it caused in your relationship. Was there any animosity between you?”

  “Animosity? No, I wouldn’t say I felt like that. It was just difficult.”

  “And did you feel that your sister harboured animosity towards you?”

  “No. Why are you asking this?”

  “We have a witness who says he met your sister and had a conversation with her in which she talked about you.”

  “Is this someone I know?”

  “No, I’ve no reason to believe you know or have ever met this person.”

  “Talking behind my back to strangers then, was she?”

  “It was only a few passing remarks, as far as I know, but nevertheless they do seem to have been addressed to a stranger.”

  “All right, what did she say?”

  “I’m afraid what the witness reported hearing wasn’t very pleasant. I’ll paraphrase it – she said you looked down on her, and that you’d only got married to spite her.”

  “Well maybe I do, and maybe I did. That’s not so terrible, is it? I don’t find words like that very offensive.”

  “But if you’ll pardon me, I’ll quote some other things our witness reported.”

  He took out his notebook, flipped to the right page and read from it.

  “The person in question reported that your sister called you a ‘smug little madam’ and said she would ‘wipe that smirk off that sweet little holier-than-thou face’.”

  Susan looked shocked and remained silent.

  “Do you have anything to say?”

  Susan shook her head, avoiding his eyes.

  “This perhaps sheds some new light on why your sister wasn’t at your wedding, does it not?” said Jago.

  Susan shrugged, still silent.

  “Mrs Fletcher, there’s a discrepancy between what you said on that subject and what your husband told us. You said Mary wasn’t able to come to the wedding, which implies that she had an invitation but was unable to attend. But your husband told us she wasn’t there because you hadn’t invited her, and he suggested Mary didn’t like you. He didn’t know why you hadn’t invited her, because you refused to discuss it.”

  Susan flashed a look at her husband that to Jago spoke louder than words.

  “All right,” she said. “If you really want to know I’ll tell you. I didn’t like my sister. You hear me? I didn’t like her, and I’m pretty certain she didn’t like me. If you’ve got any doubts about that, I think those words you’ve just quoted prove it.”

  “That’s only hearsay, not proof.”

  “It sounds very much like what I’d expect her to say, especially if I’m not there to hear it. We may have been sisters by blood, but that’s the only thing we had in common. I know that’s not the way it’s supposed to be, but that’s how it was.”

  George sat down beside her and took her hand in both of his. He squeezed it gently, but she looked away. Jago couldn’t tell whether he was expressing sympathy or trying to get her to stop talking.

  “My wife has been under a lot of strain,” said George.

  “What do you know about what strain I’m under?” she demanded. “Why don’t you just leave me alone? I can’t breathe without you fussing all over me.”

  Susan yanked her hand away from his. Without another word she jumped to her feet and walked over to the living room door. She held it open and stood beside it, facing Jago and Cradock.

  “So there you are, Inspector. You wanted to know, and I’ve told you. Is that enough for you? I think you’d better go now.”

  The second name on Jago’s list was Winifred Hornby. The two detectives drove to Everson Engineering and found her at work in her office.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Miss Hornby, but there’s a small matter we need to clarify with you.”

  “By all means, Inspector. I’ll do my best to
be of assistance.”

  “Were you at the Railway Tavern public house in Scott Street yesterday evening?”

  Miss Hornby’s eyes widened and she looked from Jago to Cradock and back again.

  “How –” She seemed to think better of whatever she’d been about to say and started again. “Well, yes, Inspector, as a matter of fact I was.”

  “And what time would that have been?”

  “I don’t recall precisely – I wasn’t checking my watch. It must have been sometime between half past seven and eight o’clock, because the blackout started just as I got there.”

  “And what were you doing there? You don’t strike me as the kind of lady who’ll go out for a drink in the evening in a place like that.”

  “Certainly not. I was there only briefly – I was meeting someone, and he had said he wanted to meet there.”

  “So you were meeting a gentleman?”

  “Now hold on, Inspector, this is not what you’re thinking.”

  Miss Hornby’s pale cheeks had begun flushing. She looked round again anxiously, as if someone else might be in the room and witnessing the scene.

  “Don’t you worry, Miss Hornby, I’m not thinking anything. What was the name of the gentleman?”

  Her voice dropped to a half-whispered tone of resignation.

  “He’s called Harry Parker.”

  “And what was the purpose of your meeting?”

  “I, er… that is to say he… He does some window cleaning for us at Everson Engineering.”

  “How interesting. Do continue.”

  “I normally pay him from the petty cash when he’s done them, but on this occasion I wasn’t able to, so I said I’d pay him in the evening. I don’t think he’s very flush with money.”

  “At the Railway Tavern?”

  “Yes. I said I’d take it to his house, but he said he and his wife would both be out, so I asked him where he’d be. He said the Railway Tavern and told me where it was, so I said I’d drop it in there. I had no idea, of course, what kind of establishment it was until I got there. ‘Tavern’ sounded like a nice, homely place to me.”

  “I’m sure it would. How much did you pay him?”

  “I gave him twelve shillings and sixpence, then got out as quickly as I could. That’s all there is to it, Inspector.”

  “I don’t believe that’s the case. I believe there is something more to it – he gave you something in exchange for that money.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Miss Hornby, are you familiar with section two of the Prevention of Crimes Amendment Act 1885?”

  A look of alarm crossed her face.

  “No, of course I’m not. What are you talking about?”

  “It is an offence to wilfully obstruct a police officer in the execution of his duty. I shouldn’t like to have to charge you with that offence, Miss Hornby, but I must have the truth from you. What was in that package?”

  Miss Hornby crumpled. Her voice was almost inaudible.

  “Stockings.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She looked at him and spoke a little louder.

  “Stockings. If you must know, I was buying silk stockings from him. I needed them, and he told me he had a pair he could let me have. You just can’t find them in the shops, you know.”

  The third name Jago had written on his list was Herbert Johnson, but this did not require a visit.

  “So,” he said as he started up the Riley’s engine, “did you get anywhere with that cap?”

  “I did,” said Cradock, “and I didn’t even have to go up to the West End. The fourth place I checked was a gents’ outfitters in Stratford Broadway, and they had a record of selling it five weeks ago. They said the customer paid with a cheque.”

  “And the customer’s name?”

  Cradock stared ahead through the windscreen and grinned.

  “You’ll never guess.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The ARP depot had been a school until September 1939. Jago had last visited it twelve years ago, when an anxious headmaster had discovered damage suggesting someone had broken into the premises during the night. On that day the playground had swarmed with boys playing improvised games of football, but now there was not a child or a teacher to be seen. The pupils had long since been evacuated to safer parts of the country, and the place where they had stood in neat lines ready to return to their classrooms after playtime was now occupied by a stack of timber props and three sets of ladders. Through a window in what looked like the gymnasium he could see stores of tools, buckets, stirrup pumps, and other paraphernalia for dealing with air raids.

  The playground itself presented a curious sight. It was now a parking space for vehicles. They were clearly all serving one purpose – Air Raid Precautions – but unlike a commercial or council yard, where he was accustomed to seeing a fleet of identical vehicles in identical livery, this was a hotchpotch. Civilian saloons of various makes that had been converted into stretcher carriers for rescue parties stood alongside lorries borrowed from local firms, now loaded with ARP equipment but still bearing their owners’ names in smart lettering. On the other side of the playground he saw a couple of Tilly vans, some motor cycles, and a heavy lorry with a crane mounted on the back. Somewhere among these, he assumed, would be the truck Harry was driving on the night of the murder.

  Cradock found a man in bluette ARP overalls and wellington boots who took them to the depot superintendent. The superintendent confirmed that Harry Parker was there and offered the use of his office for their conversation.

  Ten minutes later Jago and Cradock were seated alone with Harry in the office.

  “I know you’re on duty, Harry, so I’ll be brief,” said Jago. “What were you doing at the Railway Tavern last night?”

  “Railway Tavern? I think there must be a mistake.”

  “I saw you there, Harry.”

  “What? Oh, you mean that Railway Tavern. I thought –”

  “Cut the nonsense, Harry, and just tell me what you were doing.”

  “Having a drink, of course.”

  “You weren’t having a drink when I saw you. You were talking to a lady.”

  “Was I? Well, I do sometimes talk to ladies. If I did talk to one last night I don’t know who she was.”

  “You do know her, Harry. Miss Winifred Hornby.”

  “Oh, yes, now I remember. Tall, with glasses.”

  “I saw money changing hands between you, and I’d like to know what that was for.”

  “Money? Oh, that… Yes, I’d, er, cleaned some windows for her, at her house, and she was just settling up.”

  “I wish I could believe this charming story, Harry, but I’m afraid I know it’s not true. We’ve already spoken to Miss Hornby, and she’s told us you were selling her silk stockings. Is that true? I was watching you, remember.”

  Jago watched Harry’s eyes. He seemed to be weighing up his options, as if trying to work out whether further denial would mean deeper trouble.

  “All right, yes, I was. Just helping her out, you know – only one pair. A harmless little spot of private enterprise, that’s all.”

  “And does your range extend to other products? Hydrogen peroxide, for example?”

  Harry’s expression turned to astonishment. Now he looked like a man in a music hall audience who’d just had his mind read.

  “How did you know –”

  “By keeping my eyes on you. You must have walked under a ladder, Harry. Your luck’s just run out.”

  Harry’s shoulders slumped.

  “You’ve had a little scheme working at Everson’s, haven’t you?” said Jago.

  Harry nodded, his eyes down.

  “Tell me how it worked.”

  “Okay. It was nothing big, you know. Just a little bit of stuff here and there. My missus cleans for them, and she’d sometimes come across a bit of this or that, so I told her to put it out near the dustbins by the back door where I park my barrow while I’
m doing the windows. Then I’d come along and put them in the barrow – just had to make sure I got to them before the dustmen came to empty the bins and cart the rubbish away.”

  “And what made you think you were entitled to do this?”

  “I got the idea from someone who worked there. I was cleaning their windows one day and this person asked after the wife, as you do, and I said well, we’re usually a bit short at the moment, so she’s still charring, but it’s bad for her knees. Then she says something like it’s not surprising some people help themselves to a few bits and pieces and find good homes for them, especially when they can see their loved ones suffering for lack of a bit of cash.”

  “You said ‘she’ – so this was a woman?”

  “Of course it was. She virtually told me to help myself. She said there’s gallons of peroxide lying around and doing nothing when there’s plenty of women who’d be glad to get their hands on it for their hair. I asked, casual like, where they kept it, and it turned out it was in a place my Flo cleans in the mornings before the staff come in. I thought she was a bit dim to give away information like that, but I suppose she didn’t think of me as someone who might nick the stuff. Then I thought maybe she’s dropping some kind of hint. Either way, it all looked too easy, so I did it.”

  “Including valves?”

  “Valves? No. A few batteries, but no valves. What kind of valves?”

  “Never you mind. And this woman who spoke to you: would that be Miss Hornby?”

  Harry hesitated.

  “No. It was someone else who worked at Everson’s. That other lady, the one we found on the bomb-site – Mary Watkins.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Jago and Cradock sat in the Riley outside the ARP depot. Jago pulled his sleeve back and checked his watch.

  “We’ve still got some calls to make, and I want to finish them before blackout time.”

  “I thought we were going to arrest Parker for pinching that stuff,” said Cradock. “Did you change your mind?”

  “There’s no time to get him back to the station if we want to finish our calls. Harry won’t go anywhere. He’s an old-timer – the sort that knows when the game’s up and takes the consequences. Doing time is just part of the job for a man like him.”