by Mark Ellis
She pulled away and shook her curls petulantly. “I knew you didn’t want to take me out of here. It’s not nice leading a girl on, you know.” She removed a small mirror from her handbag and scrutinised herself carefully before adjusting a few hairs.
“Look dear, let’s not argue. There’s a couple of quid in it if you can tell me something. We can still talk about the hotel but first of all…” Merlin put an envelope on the table and opened it. “I was wondering whether you could tell me if you recognise this girl.”
Eve primly pursed her lips and returned the mirror to her bag. “You a copper or something?”
“Never mind. If you can tell me whether or not you’ve seen this girl in here there’s money in it for you.”
Eve chewed on her lower lip, then pulled the photograph from Merlin’s hand.
“It’s the fair-haired girl in the middle.”
She peered at the photograph. “I can’t see anything in this light. Pull that candle over.”
Merlin did as he was told.
Eve frowned with concentration. “Yeh. I’ve seen her in here.”
“Work here, did she?”
“Give me another quid and I’ll tell you.”
“Another ten bob, Eve. Fifty bob in total but that’s it.”
“I’ve seen her in here with that Yank and his mates.”
“Often?”
She shook her head. “Not often but I remember her because I was in the party once. That fat bloke was there too and some others. Pretty little thing really. Didn’t seem very happy.”
Merlin was distracted a little by raised voices nearby but continued. “Is it common for men to bring women here?”
Eve lit a cigarette. “No. But it happens sometimes.” She blew a smoke ring which floated briefly above them before disintegrating into the gloom.
“Why would a man do that?”
“Who knows, darling? Showing off or maybe a man likes to humiliate a girl. Who knows?”
“And did…”
The raised voices now became a loud commotion. The source was a booth on the other side of the dance floor. Merlin saw a man standing up with one of the girls haranguing him and hitting him with her hands. There was a lull in the music and he could hear her words quite clearly.
“You bastard. I’m not gonna answer any more of your questions. Get away from me!”
The man stepped back into the light and, with a jolt, Merlin recognised his sergeant.
Two burly waiters hurried over to the table followed by the owner. After a few more screeched words from the woman, Bridges was grabbed, punched and manhandled through the red curtain and pushed out of the door. He could hear the fading sound of his protests as he was taken up the stairs.
He had no option. He kissed Eve on the cheeks and put three notes in her hand. He left some money on the table and rose. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’ve been very helpful.”
Eve tugged at Merlin’s jacket. “Don’t go, darling. I don’t care if you are a copper. Stay a bit longer.”
He pulled away with some difficulty and blew her a kiss, which she returned with a wistful smile.
Merlin wasn’t sure if he’d left the right money, but no one stopped him as he raced through the door.
Out in the street he saw Bridges being held by one man from behind while the other pummelled him. Bridges managed to raise a leg and knee the man facing him but this only served to provoke a heavier onslaught. Merlin threw himself into the fray and pulled the attacker away, allowing Bridges to lean forward and pull the other waiter over his shoulder. Merlin threw a punch and connected cleanly with his man’s jaw, putting him on the ground next to his partner. The waiters looked briefly at each other before rising groggily to their feet and limping towards the club.
“Alright, Sam?”
“Just a little winded.”
Merlin sucked his knuckles. “Ouch! Haven’t done that in quite a while. It really stings!”
CHAPTER 7
Saturday February 3rd
The sergeant arrived in Merlin’s office just after nine, his right eye surrounded by a dark blue and black circle.
“That’s come up nicely, hasn’t it?”
Bridges smiled ruefully. “The missus wasn’t too happy. She’d have been round to The Blue Angel last night if she’d had her way.”
Bridges had explained in the taxi after the fight what had happened. He had not been getting very far with his questioning of Dolores, who claimed to be from Argentina. When he recognised Norton, he started asking about him and his companions and she became edgy. The blow-up had occurred however when he had realised that Dolores’ wandering hands had extracted a tenner from his trouser pocket.
“Think Norton recognised us, sir?”
“I doubt it in that murk.”
Bridges carefully felt his bruise.
“I told you last night, Sam, how my girl was quite helpful about Joan, Norton and the club. One thing she didn’t know was the name of Norton’s chubby friend. I suppose your girl didn’t – ?”
“I asked but she clammed up on me.”
Merlin leaned forward and rummaged through the papers on his desk. Eventually he found what he was looking for and read out an address in Earl’s Court. “Come on then. Time to pay Mr Owen a visit. This should be enlightening.”
Merlin looked at the boarded-up doors of The Tate Gallery and the sandbags piled outside. “They’ve taken all the pictures into the country.”
“Sir?”
“I hear that the collections at The Tate, The National and so on have been taken out of London and put somewhere safe for the duration. Wales or somewhere, according to a friend of mine in Special Branch.”
“Oh.” Art appreciation was not one of Bridges’ strong points.
“I met my wife in The Tate Gallery, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She slipped on some stairs and I helped her up.”
Bridges knew the story well. As usual, he felt that reticence was the appropriate response when his boss mentioned his wife.
“It was a lovely summer’s day and she was wearing a pink dress.”
As they passed The Royal Hospital and Battersea Park on the other side of the river, Merlin remembered a happy picnic in the Park with Alice, Jack and Jack’s girlfriend of the moment – what was her name – Rachel or Rebecca? A Jewish girl whose parents had escaped Hitler’s Germany. What had happened to her, he wondered. Jack’s turnover rate was high. She had been one of the better ones and she and Alice had got on like a house on fire. Happy days.
Merlin was jolted out of his reverie by a sudden recall of his resolution and a loud blast on the car horn. A couple of scruffy lads were crossing over to the river side of the road, carrying a sandbag between them. Bridges wound down his window. “Oi. Do you want to get killed? And where are you going with that?”
The boys grinned back and shouted something which Bridges couldn’t quite make out but knew was rude. They turned and ran down a walkway towards the houseboats tethered to the Chelsea Embankment.
“Up to no good, I’m sure. Shall I chase them?”
“No, Sergeant. Bigger fish to fry today.”
They arrived at a tall Edwardian block of mansion flats just off the Earls Court Road and, the lift being out of order, climbed wearily up three steep flights of stairs. Bridges knocked four times at Number 32 before a woman’s voice rasped from behind the door. “Who’s there?”
“It’s the police. We’d like to talk to Mr Owen.”
A disgruntled male voice took over. “Whaddya want? I’m trying to get some sleep. Come back later, can’t you?”
“Is that Mr Owen?”
“Yes it is, and I can’t see you now. Come back after lunch.”
“That’s not possible, sir. We have some questions to ask you about a Mr Johnny Morgan. Your nephew, I believe.”
There was a period of silence before the man spoke again. “Is the boy in trouble?”
“I’d rather do this in
person, if you don’t mind.”
The door opened to reveal Morrie “The Lorry” Owen, wearing a tattered brown dressing gown under which a shabby white vest and long johns could occasionally be glimpsed. Merlin noticed the flicker of surprise on Bridges’ face. Behind Owen, they could see a small, skinny woman, her hair set in paper curlers, holding a black cat. “What’s the boy got up to then?” Morrie Owen asked. He made no attempt to move back from the doorway to allow the policemen entrance.
“May we discuss this inside please, sir?”
“We’re not dressed yet, but I suppose you might as well come in. Go and get decent, Annie, and then pour me a glass of Tizer, will you? I’m parched.” Owen shuffled back through a small hallway and into his lounge. He apparently had no worries about his own decency and, lowering himself into an outsize armchair, he waved his hand in the direction of the two chairs facing him and an unlit gas fire. “Annie. When you’re dressed come and light this fire, will you? It’s bloody freezing.”
The room was large and well-furnished. A tall antique grandfather-clock stood in a corner and there were some attractive old prints on the walls. Everything was spick and span and Merlin guessed that Owen made sure his wife earned her keep. “What’s this about Johnny then?”
“You obviously haven’t heard, Mr Owen. There’s really no easy way to say this but your nephew is dead. His body was found the day before yesterday. His throat was cut.”
Owen’s mouth turned down and his jowls sagged further into the folds of his neck. His pudgy hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly.
“I know this must be a bit of a shock, but we would like to ask you a few questions.”
Owen’s eyes moved slowly from Merlin to Bridges and back. “Got any suspects ’ave you? If you people can’t find out who did it, I bloody well will. Bastards whoever they are. Does his mother know? She’ll never recover, you know. Already lost one boy down the mines.”
“I understand the Embassy were trying to notify the family in Wales yesterday, Mr Owen. They should know by now.”
Owen sighed heavily and an expanse of hairy flesh emerged from under his nightwear. “What is it you want to know?”
“We understand that you helped Johnny to get his job at the American Embassy.”
“I gave him a reference if that’s what you mean. He was a good driver and I told them so.”
“It was a little more than that, wasn’t it?
We understand you introduced Johnny to someone who works in a senior capacity at the Embassy, who then procured the job for him.”
Owen scratched at one of the folds of his neck. “Same difference. The American Embassy needed a driver and I gave Johnny a reference.”
“Did you learn about the job opening from a Mr Norton, a Mr Arthur Norton?”
“Norton? Is that his name? I’m not very good at names. If that’s what you say his name is, I’m sure you’re right.”
“We understood that Mr Norton might be some sort of friend of yours.” “I don’t know about that. Just heard about the job through the grapevine really. Johnny had only been up in London for a short time. I didn’t really need him as I already had a driver so I was just making work unnecessarily. Heard about the job and gave him a reference, as I said. What’s all this got to do with his death anyway?”
Mrs Owen entered wearing a floral housecoat, with a handkerchief tied over her head to cover her curlers. She handed her husband his drink, knelt down a little creakily, lit the fire, then disappeared.
“Mr Owen, we need to investigate Johnny’s background thoroughly to identify any possible enemies. It’s also helpful to know who his friends were. Would we be right in thinking that Mr Norton was a good friend to Johnny?”
Owen shifted in his seat and some of the sticky liquid in his glass spilled on to the arm of his chair. He wiped the mess with the sleeve of his dressing gown and stared pugnaciously at the policemen. “Better ask Norton that, copper. I don’t know.”
Merlin decided to change tack. “Could you tell us a little about your business activities, Mr Owen? You’re in the restaurant and entertainment business, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell us about it?”
“What’s to tell?” Owen said sourly. “I have some premises. Eating or drinking places with sometimes a bit of music. That’s it.”
“Would one of these premises be called The Blue Angel?”
Owen leaned forward in his seat and slopped more Tizer over the armchair. “Annie, come and clean this mess will you?” His eyes became more alert and he looked carefully at the policemen. “Thought I’d seen you before.” He peered under the brim of Bridges’ hat. “Nice shiner you’ve got there. You upset some of my staff last night, didn’t you? Were you there too, Merlin? Yes, I think you were. What were you doing skulking around like that in my club? And why all these games? Yes, alright, I do own The Blue Angel. What of it? Perfectly proper club it is. What’s it got to do with Johnny?”
“Was Norton one of your customers last night?”
“Might have been. I have lots of customers you know. Don’t know all of them.”
Merlin felt himself becoming impatient of Owen’s limited acquaintance with the truth. “Come on. Norton’s a customer who was friendly enough to find a cushy opening for your Johnny in the American Embassy. Perhaps he owed you a favour, perhaps you owed him a favour. Which is it?”
Owen’s face became flushed. He kicked out with his right foot at his wife, who had reappeared as commanded and was on her knees mopping away at the stains. “Get out of it, woman. That’s tidy enough.” She picked up the cat which had followed her into the room and scuttled away.
“Alright. He’s a customer. A friendly customer. What of it? He mentioned where he worked one night and I asked him to bear Johnny in mind if there were any jobs going. Simple as that. I have lots of friendly relationships with customers like that. This one worked out well for Johnny. That’s all. I don’t like to talk about my customers, see, as they expect discretion. Without discretion I’d be out of business, wouldn’t I?”
Merlin put his hand inside his jacket pocket. “Have you ever seen this girl before?”
Owen snapped open a glasses case on his side-table and examined the Harris family photograph through thick-rimmed spectacles. “No. Never.”
“Are you sure?”
Owen removed his glasses and snapped the case closed. “Don’t recognise her, copper. What more can I say?”
“We believe she visited your club.”
“Lots of girls visit. Can’t expect me to recognise them all, can you?”
“This one was called Joan. We think she visited the club in December with Norton.”
“No. Rings no bells.”
Merlin could feel his blood pressure building. “If your bells peal out at any time soon, please let us know, won’t you? You see, if you care about us finding your nephew’s killer, information about this girl might help us. Her full name is Joan Harris, does that mean anything to you?”
“Nothing at all.”
Merlin rose abruptly to his feet and stepped forward, placing his hands on the arms of Owen’s chair. He leaned down. “Nothing at all? Well, Miss Harris was also employed by the American Embassy and, like Johnny, recently met a violent death. Johnny knew her, Norton knew her and they are both linked to you. We will be digging deep, Mr Owen, and it would be best if you were honest with us. If you’re not then we may be bound to make life a little difficult for you, do you understand me?”
Owen’s chins shuddered. “That’s no way to speak to a recently bereaved man. Here I am in mourning for my nephew and you’re threatening me. Shame on you, copper!”
“Come on, Sergeant.”
At the bottom of the stairs they passed the Owens’ cat, which had a mouse in its jaws. It glared at them with a lack of warmth matching that of its owners.
“You might have mentioned that you thought he’d be the club owner, sir.”
�
�I wasn’t sure it would be him, Sam. Just had a hunch after the girl told me his first name and then Norton turned up. I didn’t know for sure till he opened the door.”
“Hmm.”
“Got Miss Donovan’s brother’s address yet?”
“No, sir.”
“I think we can leave it for the weekend. We’ll see her on Monday. She should be fully recovered by then.”
At the Yard, on their way up to the office, a heavily-built man in a trilby hat rushed down the stairs towards them. They were climbing two abreast and the man twitched his small nose furiously at them as he waited for one of them to move aside and let him past. Bridges obliged and the man hurried on.
When he reached his floor Merlin turned, looking puzzled.
“Did that man look familiar to you?”
“Can’t say he did, sir. I didn’t really get much of a look at him.”
Inspector Johnson appeared at the other end of the corridor and joined them. He had shaved off his moustache as ordered.
“How goes it, Peter?”
“I’ve just had my suspect in. He was here because I missed him at the Foreign Office yesterday. If I’d known you were going to be here now I’d have held on to him.”
“Hmm.” Merlin stroked his forehead thoughtfully. “Would I be right in thinking that Edward Fraser is a portly gentleman with a snub nose?”
“You would. Did you see him on his way out?”
“He barged past the Sergeant and me on the stairs. A rude fellow.”
“‘Arrogant’ and ‘bumptious’ are the words that come most immediately to my mind.”
They went through into Merlin’s office and sat around the desk.
“How far did you get with him?”
“He persisted with his story about hitting a deer. He was very upset that I’d been to look for him at the Foreign Office. Said it looked really bad for him. Interesting line in swear-words he has. Must have had a few years in the army before joining the diplomatic corps.”
“Find any chinks in his armour?”
“Not really. He gave me chapter and verse about where he’d been on his country weekend – some place in Surrey owned by a Lord and Lady Pelham. Said he hit the deer somewhere in the country near their estate as he was driving up for the weekend. Didn’t think he’d killed it. He was on his own in the car and there was no one about, so no witnesses to the accident, although he said that several people at the house party could vouch that the car was damaged when it arrived at the Pelhams’ place.”
