Murder at the Ritz

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Ah, guv’nor!’ said Lampson. ‘Two messages.’ And he handed him the one from Rosa.

  ‘When did this come in?’ asked Coburg, frowning.

  ‘Don’t know, guv. It was on the desk when I came in.’

  ‘I wish they’d put the time on these things,’ snapped Coburg unhappily. ‘I keep telling them but they just ignore me. Right, Ted. I’m off again to see what Miss Weeks wants.’ Then he stopped. ‘You said there were two messages?’

  Lampson explained about the gruesome discovery in the river.

  ‘Man or woman?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘He didn’t say, guv.’

  ‘OK. Are you all right making your way to Charing Cross on your own? If Rosa says it’s urgent, it will be. She’s not the type to make a fuss, and I don’t know when this message came in.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Lampson, and he passed the car keys to Coburg. ‘I hope everything’s all right.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rosa was in her dressing room at the Ritz, going through her music and selecting the numbers for that evening’s performance, when Coburg arrived.

  ‘Thank heavens you’re here!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I called at your house but no one was in. Your message said it’s urgent.’

  ‘It is. What did you tell your people about Julie?’

  ‘My people?’

  ‘The police.’

  ‘Nothing. I haven’t mentioned her name to anyone, not even to my sergeant.’

  ‘Well, two men came to the house today and took her away. They said they were from Special Branch.’

  ‘Where did they take her?’

  ‘That’s it, they didn’t say where they were going to take her. Donna—’

  ‘Donna?’

  ‘My other housemate. She was at the house when they came. She was the one Julie told to get in touch with you about it.’

  Coburg looked at her, puzzled. ‘I don’t know anything about this,’ he said. ‘Like I said, I never mentioned her to anyone. Did these men give their names?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about showing their identification?’

  ‘Donna said one of them flashed a card at her, but she didn’t look at it properly. She said they looked like coppers, or somebody official.’ She shook her head, worried. ‘I heard about the second murder here. In the kitchens.’

  ‘Yes, that’s why you couldn’t get hold of me. I was here, then my sergeant and I were out and about trying to find out as much as we could about the victim.’

  ‘Do you think it’s connected with the dead man in the King’s suite?’

  ‘I’d be surprised if it isn’t.’

  ‘Connected with what’s happened to Julie?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Coburg.

  ‘I’m worried,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll find her,’ Coburg assured her. ‘I’ll check out Special Branch straight away.’

  ‘And if they haven’t got her?’

  ‘I’ll keep nosing around until I find out who has.’

  Back at Scotland Yard, Coburg made his way down to the basement and the rooms that housed Special Branch. It could be a funny animal, often secretive, which led many of its people to have an attitude of wariness, even when talking to other police officers. Coburg was aiming for one who he knew would be open and frank with him: Chief Inspector Albert Tenniel. They’d both come up through the ranks together, after having met as soldiers in the fields of Flanders during the First World War.

  He found Tenniel’s office at the far end of the basement corridor, knocked and, when he heard Tenniel’s voice call out ‘Enter’, walked in. Tenniel was sitting at his desk, smoking a small cigar and sorting through some papers. He was a short, genial-looking man with a scar on one side of his face, the result of a German mine exploding during an advance. He was also completely bald. People said that the baldness was a side effect of the shock and trauma he’d experienced in the trenches, that before the war he’d had a full head of hair, but it was something that Coburg had never asked him about.

  Tenniel’s face broke into a grin as he saw who his visitor was.

  ‘Good heavens, it’s the Honourable Edgar Walter Septimus Saxe-Coburg!’ he beamed. ‘What brings the gentry slumming down in the lower depths?’

  Coburg smiled. ‘Thought I’d see how the other half lived.’

  Tenniel laughed. ‘You’re not here as an emissary of your brother Magnus the Duke, then?’

  Coburg regarded him, puzzled. ‘An emissary about what?’ he asked.

  ‘My boss had a letter from him recently complaining about his chauffeur being interned. When I saw you, I wondered if he’d asked you to intercede.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Coburg. ‘Poor Magnus.’

  ‘Poor Magnus?’ queried Tenniel. ‘Not’ – he picked up a sheet of paper from his desk – ‘not poor Carlo Viletti, who I assume is the chauffeur.’

  ‘He is,’ confirmed Coburg. ‘And a really nice bloke, as well as being a staunch anti-fascist. He’s been with Magnus for the last twenty years. He’ll be lost without Carlo.’

  ‘I still say “poor Carlo”,’ said Tenniel. ‘I’m afraid the “Intern all Italians and Germans” rule has resulted in many of those who fled from the Nazis and Mussolini ending up behind bars here.’

  ‘So, if you’re not here to get your brother’s chauffeur released, what can I do for you?’

  ‘A young woman called Julie Stafford was picked up by Special Branch a few hours ago from her house, and no one knows what’s happened to her.’

  Tenniel frowned thoughtfully. ‘Stafford? Doesn’t ring a bell. You sure it was Special Branch?’

  ‘That’s what they told her and her housemate, who saw them. They had warrant cards with them.’

  ‘Well, it was certainly nothing that I was involved with,’ said Tenniel. ‘Do you know why she was lifted?’

  ‘I’m guessing it was something to do with a murder at the Ritz that we’re investigating.’

  ‘Oh yes. In one of King Zog’s suites.’

  ‘I hear you’re keeping a watch on their money laundering activities,’ said Coburg.

  ‘Hardly money laundering,’ protested Tenniel. ‘They’re just changing foreign currency into sterling. People do it all the time.’

  ‘But not usually in such quantities,’ observed Coburg.

  ‘The rich are different from the rest of us,’ said Tenniel sagely. Then he grinned. ‘Well, not from you and your crowd, but the rest of us.’

  ‘My family isn’t rich,’ said Coburg. ‘What with death duties we count as among the poorest in the land.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ scoffed Tenniel. ‘Try telling that to some charwoman in the East End with seven kids to support.’

  ‘Yes, all right, that was an over-exaggeration,’ Coburg admitted gracefully. ‘It comes from listening too much to Magnus. But getting back to this young woman, Julie Stafford …’

  ‘Where was she picked up from?’ asked Tenniel.

  Coburg gave him the address. Tenniel stood up.

  ‘If you wait here, I’ll go and have a word with some of my colleagues, see if any of them know anything about it.’ He gestured at the papers on his desk. ‘No peeking while I’m out. This is all highly secret.’ Then he grinned as he selected two sheets of paper, which he passed to Coburg. It was on the letterhead of the Duke of Dawlish. ‘Although you can have a look at this one. It’s the letter I mentioned from your brother. He does know we’re at war with Italy, I assume?’

  ‘Magnus doesn’t think of Carlo as the enemy,’ said Coburg. ‘And, to be honest, nor do I.’

  ‘Anyway, it’ll give you something to read while I’m out and keep your eyes off the other papers.’

  ‘I promise I won’t even look at them,’ said Coburg. ‘Scout’s honour.’

  ‘I thought you got thrown out of the Boy Scouts for conduct unbecoming,’ said Tenniel.

  ‘Yes, but it was a minor aberration,’ said Coburg. ‘And my word remain
s my bond.’

  ‘Family motto?’ asked Tenniel as he made for the door.

  ‘No, that’s “Don’t Trust the Butler”,’ said Coburg.

  Tenniel left, and Coburg settled down to read his brother’s letter to the Minister for War. It was typical Magnus in tone, very formal, but making a lucid appeal on Carlo’s behalf, citing his long years of service to the Saxe-Coburg family, his known antipathy to Mussolini and the fascists, along with his loathing of Hitler and the Nazis, and ending with a declaration that Mr Viletti was the only person who understood the machinations of the various vehicles in the Duke of Dawlish’s possession, and if he was going to be able to continue to contribute to the war effort, then he could only do that with the assistance of his faithful chauffeur and mechanic, Mr Carlo Viletti. At the end of the letter someone had written in a pencilled scrawl: ‘Hard luck. Tell His Dukeship to catch a bus,’ which made Coburg smile.

  He put the letter back on Tenniel’s desk, as the door of the office opened and the man returned.

  ‘Not us,’ he announced.

  ‘You’re sure?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘I’ve checked with everyone who might know, and no one knows anything about it. Could it be Five or Six?’

  ‘Why would they say they were Special Branch?’

  ‘Easier than explaining to someone about MI5 and MI6, especially as most people have never heard of them,’ said Tenniel.

  Or could it be the same people who’d taken Williams’s body while claiming to be from MI5, only this time pretending to be Special Branch? mused Coburg.

  Lampson stood alongside Sergeant Moss, looking at the body on the slab.

  ‘Not a pretty sight,’ said Lampson.

  ‘Beaten to death, by the look of it,’ said Moss. ‘And savagely.’

  There was no doubt about it, the face had been battered almost beyond recognition.

  Lampson nodded. ‘I’d better get back to the Yard and let the guv’nor know. This is going to change things.’

  After drawing a blank with Special Branch, Coburg moved on to Inspector Hibbert at MI5, then Atkinson at MI6. Both told him the same: neither of their organisations had picked up Julie Stafford, or any other young woman that day.

  ‘Then, where is she?’ wondered Coburg as he headed back to Scotland Yard. ‘Who took her? And why?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Coburg walked into the office and found his sergeant on the phone. Lampson hung up as he saw his boss.

  ‘Just trying to get hold of you, guv,’ he said. ‘Thought I’d try the Ritz first. How’d it go with your lady friend?’

  ‘One of her housemates seems to have been snatched. The men who took her said they were from Special Branch, but it turns out they weren’t.’ He sighed. ‘Trouble is, there’s no sign of her. What about you? How did you get on with Barry Moss and the body pulled out of the Thames?’

  ‘It’s Billy Thackeray.’

  ‘Thackeray!’

  Lampson nodded. ‘The medics reckon he was killed on Monday, sometime during the day. Of course, it’s difficult to pin down an accurate time with him having been in the water for four days, but it looks like he was killed before Joe Williams got done.’

  ‘Maybe it was Williams who did it?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Thieves falling out? If they were both involved in going after the fortune at the Ritz.’

  Lampson shook his head. ‘This was more than just a killing. He was beaten to a pulp. But it’s him all right. Billy Moss told me that Thackeray had a girlfriend, Vera. I thought I’d have a word with her, see if she can tell us anything about what Thackeray was up to. I didn’t know if you wanted to have a word with her as well.’

  Coburg shook his head. ‘You talk to her, Ted. I’d better go and let Rosa know the bad news about her friend. I’ll see you back here later.’

  Rosa hurried towards the house, snatching a look at her watch as she did. She knew she was cutting it fine, that she should be at the Ritz getting ready for her performance, but she was desperate to find out if Donna had got any news about Julie. The answer came as soon as she opened the door and saw Donna at the foot of the stairs, looking upset.

  ‘Julie’s back, and she’s making a run for it.’

  Rosa rushed up the stairs and into her friend’s room, where she saw that Julie was stuffing clothes and personal belongings into a suitcase.

  Rosa hurried across the room and threw her arms around her friend, hugging her close. ‘Thank God you’re safe. We’ve been trying to find you. Edgar’s out looking for you. Donna said they told you they were Special Branch.’

  ‘They weren’t Special Branch,’ said Julie. ‘They weren’t anyone official. Trouble is, I don’t know who they were or what they were up to, but I’m scared it might happen again. Maybe not them, but someone else. And all because I went out with Joe a couple of times. So, I’m off.’

  ‘Where?’

  Julie shook her head. ‘I’m telling no one. Last time I said anything to you I ended up being kidnapped.’

  ‘That wasn’t me!’ protested Rosa. ‘I asked Edgar, and he said he didn’t tell anyone about you. Not your name, nothing.’

  ‘So, how did they know about me?’ demanded Julie.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Rosa. ‘Maybe someone saw you with Joe and knew who you were.’

  ‘You think it’s a coincidence?’ asked Julie, obviously still upset. ‘I tell you and your copper boyfriend who the bloke in the photo is, and next thing I know I’m being blindfolded and locked up in some smelly room with just a bucket.’

  ‘Did they hurt you?’ asked Rosa tentatively.

  ‘No,’ said Julie. ‘But they could have. So, I’m taking off.’

  ‘I’m sure if you talk to Edgar, describe the men and where they took you—’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? I was blindfolded, both when they took me to wherever it was and when they brought me home.’ She shut the lid of the suitcase and pressed the catches home. ‘I’m certainly not talking to your copper again and putting myself in a spot. Donna saw them. Let her tell him what they looked like.’

  ‘But she only saw them for a minute. Please, Julie, just wait and see if I can get hold of him. Don’t you want the men who took you caught?’

  ‘I don’t care. I just want to get away before they come back again.’

  ‘Well … what about me and Donna?’ asked Rosa.

  ‘What about you?’ asked Julie.

  ‘Those men saw Donna. Say next time they go after her?’

  Julie hesitated, then asked: ‘Why would they?’

  ‘Why did they take you?’ countered Rosa.

  ‘Because I knew Joe.’

  ‘And both Donna and I met him, here at the house.’

  Again, Julie hesitated. Then, reluctantly, she nodded. ‘All right. Phone your friend. But if he’s not in, I’m not hanging about.’

  Rosa ran to the phone box on the corner. She dialled the number for Scotland Yard, desperately hoping Edgar would be in his office. He seemed to be out most of the time these days.

  ‘Metropolitan Police, Scotland Yard,’ said the operator.

  ‘DCI Coburg, please,’ said Rosa, and gave the extension number.

  Please let him be there, she prayed silently.

  There was a series of clicks, then the operator said, ‘I’m afraid there’s no one available in that office. Would you like to leave a message?’

  Damn, thought Rosa, her heart sinking. Leave a message? To what end? Julie would be off. Still, she said: ‘Yes, please. Would you ask him to contact Miss Rosa Weeks, urgently? Thank you.’

  She was just walking back to the house, feeling that nothing seemed to be going right lately, when she saw the police car pull to a halt outside her house, and Coburg himself getting out.

  ‘Edgar!’ she shouted.

  He turned and saw her as she ran towards him.

  ‘I was just trying to get hold of you!’

  He gave her an unhappy look. ‘Yes, well, it s
eems—’

  ‘Julie’s back!’

  He stared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘They let her go, but she says she’s going away right now. That’s why I was trying to get hold of you. She says she’ll talk to you about what happened, but it has to be now.’

  ‘Then let’s go and talk to her before she changes her mind,’ said Coburg, and he took Rosa by the arm and steered her determinedly towards her front door.

  A short time later, Coburg sat with the three women at the kitchen table, listening as Julie told him what had happened: the two men, the blindfold, the empty room that wasn’t a proper jail cell, their questions and the disturbing fact that they’d brought her back to the house.

  ‘They warned me not to say anything about what had happened. Said I’d be in breach of the Official Secrets Act and I could go to prison.’

  ‘As they weren’t real officials I think we can safely say you don’t need to have any fear of that,’ said Coburg.

  ‘That’s all right for you to say, but I’m still scared they’ll come back, real officials or not,’ said Julie firmly.

  ‘Tell me, what did they look like?’ asked Coburg.

  Julie looked at Donna, who shook her head. ‘I didn’t really notice them,’ she admitted. Julie frowned, thinking, remembering.

  ‘One was short,’ said Julie. ‘A bit podgy. He was the one who did all the talking. Very polite. I might have believed them if they hadn’t taken me to this place that so obviously wasn’t a police station or anywhere official.’ And she described the room she’d been kept in.

  ‘What about the other man?’

  ‘The silent one. Tall. Very tall. About six feet six. And thin. Apart from that, nothing special about either of them.’ Then she stopped and gave a thoughtful frown. ‘Wait, the tall one had a funny ear.’

  ‘A funny ear?’

  ‘Yeh. Like something had chewed it at some time. A dog, maybe.’ She looked at Coburg, agitated. ‘Look, is that it? I don’t want to hang around any longer.’