by Mike Hollow
“So are we going to see Mr Everson and tell him we’ve found his pilferer?”
“No. I still need to see some people about a murder, and I want to see them tonight. Besides, we still don’t know who’s been taking the valves. I can’t see why Harry would lie about that if he’s admitted taking the other stuff.”
“Yes, obviously the murder’s more important, but what Harry said about Mary – couldn’t that be about the murder too?” said Cradock.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s as good as said she talked him into doing that pilfering. What if she was the brains behind the whole thing?”
“Possible, I grant you. She’s on the inside, knows where everything is. I certainly don’t think Harry has brains to spare.”
“So then what if there was some reason why he had to silence her? Supposing she’d threatened to shop him or something, or tried to blackmail him into doing something else for her? He’d have had a motive to kill her, wouldn’t he?”
“All theories for which we have absolutely no evidence,” said Jago. “What’s more, we’ve only got Harry’s word that Mary said any of what he claims she said – there was only him and her there, and now she’s dead. She may have put some pressure on him, but Harry’s always been content with relieving other people of their property, not taking their lives.”
“Every murderer starts somewhere, though, sir. We’ve been taking Harry’s account of finding Mary’s body at face value – but is it true?”
Jago was looking in the car’s rear-view mirror while they spoke. As Cradock reached the end of his question, Jago opened his door.
“Here’s someone who may be able to help us,” he said, and got out of the car.
Cradock strained round in his seat, but could see no one. He followed Jago onto the pavement just in time to see him walking back towards the car with Harry’s colleague Stan Jenkins.
“Jump in the back and let Mr Jenkins have a seat in the front, please, Peter, will you?” said Jago.
Jenkins settled into the front passenger seat, with Cradock behind him, and Jago resumed his place at the wheel.
“Mr Jenkins, I’d just like to check one or two details with you,” he said. “Please tell me again what you can remember of the night you found the body.”
“It’s like we said,” Jenkins replied. “We were on duty, searching that bomb-site. That poor woman who was killed wasn’t there at ten o’clock, but when we came back next morning, there she was.”
“So what exactly did you do when you finished searching the site at ten?”
“It was a bit before ten, I reckon, but I couldn’t tell you the exact time. We’d looked all over the site, we’d established there were no cellars in those houses, and we’d listened out in case anyone was buried under the wreckage. We’d checked with the air raid warden that no one who lived there was unaccounted for. We’d done everything we’re supposed to do. So then we loaded all our gear back onto the lorry and I drove the lads down the road to get a cup of tea from the WVS mobile canteen.”
“You drove the lorry?”
“Er, yes.”
“But Harry told me he was the only member of the squad with a licence to drive that lorry.”
“Well, technically, yes.”
“So you don’t have a licence?”
“Strictly speaking, no, I suppose I haven’t. But driving tests and licences were all suspended when the war started, weren’t they?”
“Yes, but it was Harry’s job in the rescue squad to drive the lorry, wasn’t it? Why wasn’t Harry driving?”
“He was, er, taking a break. He likes his food, does Harry, and he gets a bit hungry. He said he was going to nip home for a bite to eat. His house was only about ten minutes’ walk away, but the opposite way to the canteen, so he said he’d walk – didn’t want to waste government petrol on a lift, I suppose.”
“So he went off on his own while the rest of you drove off for your cup of tea?”
“Yes, that’s right. I do know how to drive a lorry, though. I’ve just never got the licence. I thought it wouldn’t matter, just popping round the corner.”
“And at what time did you next see him?”
“When we got told to go to another site. We drove round and picked him up on the way. It must have been about half past eleven.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr Jenkins,” said Jago.
Jenkins got out of the car and continued on his way to the ARP depot’s entrance, where he turned in and was lost to sight. Jago sat in silence for a moment without starting the engine.
“So what do you think?” he said.
“I’m thinking Harry didn’t tell us about taking that little break, did he?” said Cradock.
“Indeed. Popped home for some of his wife’s good cooking, it seems.”
Cradock took his notebook from his pocket and flipped back a page.
“Yes, from what Jenkins said, they left the Tinto Road site at about ten, and Harry went off home to his missus – about ten minutes’ walk away. If we assume he helped the rest of the squad load their gear back onto the lorry first, that would get him home sometime between a quarter and half past ten.”
Jago turned the ignition key in the lock on the car’s dashboard.
“I think we need to add another brief call to our itinerary,” he said. “I’d like to drop in on Mrs Parker and find out from her what time her husband got home that night.”
CHAPTER 41
Despite a number of encounters with Harry Parker over the years, Jago had never met his wife. As he and Cradock waited on the front doorstep of number 47 Hemsworth Street he was curious to meet the woman who’d taken on the challenge of marriage to Harry.
The door was opened by a short, stout woman dressed in a flowery cotton pinafore over a brown woollen dress, with sturdy lisle stockings in the same colour and a pair of old green slippers. Her hair was streaked with what looked like the early stages of greying, and her eyes were tired.
“Detective Inspector Jago and Detective Constable Cradock, West Ham CID,” said Jago.
“Oh aye, what’s he done now, then?” she said, her voice weary. “You’d best be coming in.”
“Thank you,” said Jago, stepping into a dark and narrow hallway. “Mrs Parker?”
“That’s me, for my sins.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“I don’t think we have, but I’ve met one or two of your boys in blue over the years. Come and take a seat. You can call me Flo – everyone else does. Cup of tea?”
“No thanks,” said Jago. “We won’t be staying long.”
She led them into a cramped kitchen with one small window. Jago noticed the glass was grimy and admitted little light.
Flo followed Jago’s eye.
“I know what you’re thinking, Inspector. A window cleaner with filthy windows. Like cobblers’ children, isn’t it? Never have shoes. He’s always been so busy cleaning other people’s windows he’s not had time to do ours.”
“And he’s had other things keeping him busy of late too, hasn’t he?”
She eyed him warily.
“Other things?”
“I mean his work with the heavy rescue squad.”
“Oh, that. Yes, that’s his new hobby. He’s always been full of surprises, my Harry.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Seven years,” she said. “And before you say anything, yes, I did marry late in life.”
“Judging by your voice, it sounds like you’re not from these parts.”
“That’s right. I come from a place most people down here have never heard of – the Isle of Lewis. It’s in the Outer Hebrides, and Londoners seem to think that’s some kind of joke, as if I were saying I’m from Timbuctoo. It’s a beautiful place, but a hard life, Inspector.”
“What brought you down here?”
“I’d like to say it was love, and in a way it was, but it was the sorrow of love.”
&nbs
p; “What do you mean?”
“I was walking out with a young man, but he was taken away to the war, to be a sailor in the Navy. We got engaged before he went.”
“Was he lost in the war?”
“No: that’s the sorrow of it. He got through the whole thing, but never made it home. Have you heard of the Iolaire?”
“I think so. Was it a shipwreck?”
“Yes, New Year’s Day 1919. Two hundred and eighty Lewis men coming home from the war – all they had to do was cross the Minch from the mainland to Stornoway, but there was a storm. Their wee boat ran onto the rocks just outside the harbour. All those men, but just two lifeboats and eighty lifejackets. More than two hundred of them drowned just twenty feet from the shore, and my fiancé was one of them. They say there was a radio aboard but there was water in the batteries and the telegraphist couldn’t signal for help, and the rockets they fired were too late.”
“That must have been a terrible shock.”
“My mother told me people had seen deer on the island that night, and deer are an omen of death. Harry’s always saying I’m too superstitious, but I’ve got good reason to be.”
“So was that when you moved away?”
“That’s right. To get away from the memories – and the work.”
“What work was that?”
“I was a herring girl – gutting fish every day. That’s what you did if you were a woman in Stornoway, and it was hard work. Look at these hands.”
She held out her hands towards him, palms up. They were crisscrossed with scars.
“Those are the marks of a herring girl. From the knife we had to use – the cutag we called it in the Gaelic. A vicious thing, and working in brine made the pain twice as bad. You have a think about that next time you have kippers for your breakfast.”
“So you moved down here and met Harry?”
“Yes, a bit late in life, but I got married in the end. When I was young a fortune-teller told me I’d marry a tall, dark foreigner, and I did.”
“I believe Harry was on duty with the rescue squad last Thursday night. Is that your recollection?”
“I think so, yes, on a night shift.”
“Can you tell me what time he came home that night?”
Flo looked wary again, as if unsure which answer to give.
“Well, I remember he popped in for a bit, quite late. Said he was hungry. He’s always hungry, that man – he says it’s my cooking’s to blame, but I reckon it’s his eating. Anyway, I remember now, he got in at five to eleven. I was a bit cross – I char, you see, so I have to be up early. I go to bed early and don’t appreciate being woken up once I’ve gone. I don’t care whether it’s my Harry or Hitler, I need my sleep.”
“Weren’t you in a shelter?”
“No, I can’t sleep in those things. It’s the damp, you see, and being shut up like that halfway underground. It makes me think about those poor men drowning. When all these raids started I decided that if I had to die, I’d rather be cosy in my own bed than down in some cold, damp hole in the ground. I haven’t been killed so far, touch wood.”
She reached towards the cupboard door and tapped it as she spoke.
“So anyway, I heard him come in through the door downstairs and I remember looking at the clock and shouting out, ‘What time do you call this, Harry Parker? It’s eleven o’clock at night.’ He said he was hungry, so I told him where he could find some cold meat and bread, then I turned over and went back to sleep.”
“How long was he in for?”
“I haven’t a clue – I went straight off to sleep. Harry always was a bit of a night worker, as you may recall, Mr Jago. I know he spends half the night digging people out of bomb-sites now, but as far as I’m concerned, whatever else he might want to get up to is his own business. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get his supper ready.”
CHAPTER 42
Cradock shooed away a couple of boys who were peering curiously into Jago’s car as they drew near. It was the only car parked in the street, and therefore presumably an object of unusual interest. Evening was approaching, and some mothers were calling their children in for tea, but farther down the street he could see a group of girls playing a skipping game. They had a rope stretched from one side of the street to the other and were taking it in turns to dance in and out and skip, as one at each end held the rope and swung it round. He could just make out the sound of their voices chanting “salt, mustard, vinegar, pepper”, and it reminded him of being a boy, always trying to spoil the girls’ games and usually being chased away by them.
He pointed them out to Jago.
“Takes you back, doesn’t it, sir?”
“Yes,” said Jago. “Shame we have to grow up, really. But at least I had a proper childhood. These poor kids have got nothing but bombs to look forward to.”
“They should have been evacuated, shouldn’t they?”
“What the government says people should do and what they actually do are two different things. I can’t say I blame the parents who’ve decided to keep their kids. Some of the ones who’ve gone have ended up in more danger, so who’s to say what’s best?”
“I suppose nowhere’s safe at a time like this,” said Cradock. “A bomb could fall anywhere.”
“Including on us, so let’s not hang around too long. Blackout’s at twenty past seven tonight, and we’ve still got work to do.”
They got into the Riley.
“They’ve dropped him right in it, haven’t they?” said Cradock.
“Who has dropped whom?” said Jago.
“Stan Jenkins and Flo Parker – they’ve dropped Harry in it.”
“Explain.”
“Well, until this afternoon we’d been assuming the rescue squad were together all that night – you’d think they would be, wouldn’t you, if they’re on duty and there’s air raids on? But if Harry sloped off on his own for a bit, that blows his alibi out of the water.”
“The timing’s a bit tight, though, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. If what Jenkins said is true, Harry should have got home between a quarter and half past ten, but Flo says he got in at five to eleven. That leaves anything up to forty minutes unaccounted for. What was he doing? Playing skipping ropes with his mates?”
“So you’re saying he could have been murdering Mary in that time.”
“I think it’s possible, yes.”
“But how would he know where she’d be?”
“I don’t know. But what if he just ran into her, unexpectedly? It could happen. She liked going out for a drink, and it was getting on for closing time, so she could have just been walking home and they bumped into each other.”
“And?”
“Well, they had a row. Maybe it was something about the pilfering racket, or about something else, or maybe she threatened him. He got angry –”
“Or scared?”
“Yes, angry or scared, or whatever, and he attacked her, got carried away, and before he knows it he’s strangled her, and she’s dead. He dumps her body, then runs off home.”
“He certainly hasn’t got much by way of an alibi – Flo’s just seen to that.”
“Yes, which makes it more likely he just came across her by accident and acted on impulse. If he’d planned it he’d have been more careful.”
“Somehow I don’t see Harry masterminding a cast-iron alibi.”
“He doesn’t need to, though, does he? Not if there are no witnesses. If he had to explain that time gap away, he’d probably just say something like he stopped off for a drink in a pub where no one would remember him, or he stopped to help someone who twisted their ankle, or he thought he saw something suspicious on another bomb-site and went to have a look. He could make up a thousand excuses and we’d never be able to prove him wrong.”
Jago pursed his lips in thought.
“I’m still not sure,” he said. “I’ve known Harry a long time – he’s a petty thief and a failed burglar, but I don’t think
he’s a killer. A man’s entitled to be delayed on his way home.” He looked at his watch again. “And I don’t want to be late home either. Time to get moving – there’s someone I want to see on the way.”
Even at the best of times the back streets of Canning Town could be confusing. Short roads packed closely together at every imaginable angle meant you had to know your way around – a driver new to the area would soon get lost without a street map. Jago knew the streets, and in days gone by, having his own car at his disposal had enabled him to nip from one side of the borough of West Ham to the other without difficulty.
But now there was a war on. Every night the German bombers wreaked their destruction on the people and buildings below, and every morning the workmen were out on the streets repairing water mains, gas pipes, electrical wires, and telephone cables. Drivers had to take more and more circuitous routes as streets were cordoned off. Jago did his best not to show his annoyance as he wove his way through the maze.
He brought the car to a halt.
“Right, here we are,” he said.
Cradock peered out of the side window.
“This is where Angela Willerson lives, isn’t it? Is she the person we need to pop in on?”
“Correct,” said Jago, getting out of the car. “Step lively now – we haven’t much time.”
He walked briskly to the door, followed by Cradock, and rang the bell. Angela opened it.
“Good evening, Miss Willerson. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need your help with a loose end that I’m trying to tie up.”
Angela looked surprised, but moved aside to let them in. As they entered she stepped in front of them, just enough to stop them continuing into her flat.
“The thing is,” she said, “I’ve got a visitor with me.”
No sooner had she said this than a familiar figure emerged from the living room into the hall.
“Mrs Berry,” said Jago. “How nice to see you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
