Old Cases New Colours (A Dudley Green Investigation) (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 9)

by Madalyn Morgan

  Her old colleague sighed. ‘I suppose I’d better let you get on,’ he said, making no attempt to leave.

  Banging in the flat above the office resumed. ‘I tell you what. I’ve done enough cleaning for one day.’ Ena looked at her watch. ‘It’s half-past eleven. Let’s get out of here. I need to show my face upstairs and say hello to the builders. Why don’t you come up with me and tell me what you think of the work they’ve done so far. The office furniture’s being delivered this afternoon, sometime after one, which gives us plenty of time to go to Café Romano at the top of Mercer Street and have a coffee and a sandwich. Fancy something to eat?’

  ‘I am hungry…’

  ‘It’s a date then. Give me five minutes to get changed.’ Ena pulled off the scarf she had tied around her head like a turban to keep her hair clean and out of her eyes and shook her hair out.

  ‘It’s good you’ve had a window put in this wall,’ Artie said, peering out. ‘Can’t see much, there’s a wall and the building next door is too close. At least it lets in some daylight.’

  ‘Apparently there was a window there originally. It was only a matter of knocking a few bricks out and putting a frame and windows in again.’ Ena picked up the coffee cups and took them into the kitchen.

  ‘I wonder why it was blocked up. All seems very odd,’ Artie mused.

  ‘The Home Office had it bricked up to make the Cold Case department more secure.’ Ena said.

  Walking around the edge of the room to the door, he said, ‘Isn’t it a bit… spooky being here, where Helen Crowther killed herself?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Ena took off her pinafore and draped it over the door of the cupboard she’d been cleaning. ‘I’ll finish in here when we get back,’ she said, skipping down the step from the kitchen and locking the office door behind her. ‘So,’ she said, catching up with Artie in the foyer. ‘What do you think of the inside courtyard now it’s an entrance lobby?’

  ‘Much better. And,’ he said, opening a door on his left, ‘it’s good that you’ve made use of the old utility room?’

  ‘It’ll be a second office; somewhere where clients can speak confidentially. The big old store room is now a waiting room with a washroom and toilet.’ Ena pushed open the door between the main office and the second office, entered, and combed her hair in the mirror above the hand basin. Returning, she took her jacket from a coat stand by the door and put it on.

  ‘It’s looking good.’

  ‘Thank you, I think so too, and there isn’t much left to do down here. I know the work should have been finished before we advertised and by rights it would have been but the buildings along here are Listed buildings, which meant red tape. What with the HO causing endless delays, the work got put back and because I couldn’t afford to pay the builders to sit around drinking tea all day, they had to take another job. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t start work here on time. Anyway, they’ll be back tomorrow to finish down here and then they’ll go upstairs to help the chaps up there. By the time they’ve finished and the furniture’s in, it won’t look anything like it did when it was the Home Office’s Cold Case department.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do! Besides, Henry and I got it for a song. No one wants to buy a property with sitting tenants, so we made the HO an offer thinking we’d wait for the couple upstairs to leave and in the meantime, I’d set up the investigation agency down here. But by the time the newspapers had finished making up ghoulish stories about the spy who was murdered at No, 8 Mercer Street and according to several eye witnesses who didn’t want to be named, had seen an apparition in white leave the building and walk the streets of Covent Garden—’

  Artie gasped.

  ‘Which wasn’t true! Oh, Artie…’ Ena punched him playfully on the top of his arm. ‘But it put the wind up the young couple who lived upstairs and they did a moonlight flit.’ Ena laughed. ‘By then the Home Office, as owners of the property, had begun to attract a lot of attention and couldn’t wait to get rid of the place.’

  ‘There’s a rumour going around GCHQ that our old boss, Director Bentley, had a personal property portfolio paid for with Home Office money.’

  ‘That’s why the new director almost bit my hand off when I offered him half the amount the property was worth. I had to sign a disclaimer document to say I wouldn’t speak to the newspapers about the previous owners or its history – the spy who was the director of the Home Office or the mole at MI5, which I had no intention of doing anyway – so here I am.’

  ‘And you’re going to live in the flat upstairs?’

  ‘Eventually. There’s a lot of work to do yet, but 8a Mercer Street will one day in the near future be mine and Henry’s new home. The flat in Stockwell has been broken into so many times that I’m not comfortable there anymore.’ Ena kicked off her old tennis pumps and slipped her feet into a pair of court shoes. ‘It has bad memories for me.’

  ‘And this place hasn’t?’ Artie said with irony.

  ‘No, it hasn’t. I don’t feel the same way about Helen Crowther’s death as I do about Frieda Voight’s. I don’t care about Crowther, but Frieda… She’d been my work colleague and friend during the war. You know she came to see me at the flat in Stockwell on the night she committed suicide. I’ve often wondered whether if I’d done things differently that night, said something, perhaps I might have saved her.’ Ena picked up her handbag and left the cloakroom. ‘The flat in Stockwell isn’t home anymore,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘I just don’t feel safe there.’

  ‘And you feel safe here with the ghost of Helen Crowther walking the corridors?’

  Ena laughed and pushed him playfully towards the door. ‘I’m not superstitious and I don’t believe in ghosts. Besides, there aren’t any corridors.’

  Artie made an O of his mouth and pulled a ghoulish face.

  ‘For goodness sake,’ she said, shaking her head in fun. ‘It isn’t the dead you have to worry about, it’s the living,’ she added, crossing the newly decorated lobby.

  Artie pulled open the street door and screamed with fright.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to speak to Mrs Green, but I’ll come back another time.’

  ‘Mrs Hardy?’ Ena recognised the voice. She looked past Artie and seeing the worried expression on the woman’s face, said, ‘What on earth’s the matter?’

  Doreen Hardy was pale, her usually bright eyes were dull with dark rings under them and she looked thinner than when Ena had last seen her.

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but Inspector Powell at Bow Street said you might be able to help me.’

  ‘If I can, of course I will.’ Ena turned to Artie, ‘It was the testimonies of Mrs Hardy’s sons that led to Henry being cleared of Helen Crowther’s murder last year.’ She stood back and motioned to the mother of the three boys to come in.

  Ena led the way across to the small lobby. As she unlocked the door to her office the sound of banging grew louder. ‘Sorry about the noise, we’ve got the builders in upstairs.’ She pushed open the door. ‘The office isn’t furnished yet. I’m expecting the furniture to arrive this afternoon,’ she said, pronouncing each word clearly so she didn’t have to shout. She looked across the empty room. ‘There isn’t even a chair for you to sit on. Would you mind if we talked in the café at the top of the street? At least we’ll be able to hear each other speak in there,’ Ena said, as the dull thud of a mallet thumping against wood joined the orchestral sounds of an electric drill and a hammer hitting nails.

  Before Mrs Hardy had time to reply, the telephone rang. Ena handed Artie the keys to the outer door. ‘Would you answer that, Artie? There’s a notepad on the windowsill if you don’t mind taking a message. Oh, and would you hang on until the furniture arrives?’

  ‘Er… sure…’ Artie turned immediately and walked briskly into the office.

  ‘Thank you. Lunch is on me, later,’ Ena shouted after him. She didn’t know whether Artie had
heard her, and smiled. Lunch had always been on her.

  Ena led Mrs Hardy into Café Romano and to a secluded table between the door and a potted plant. When they were seated, Ena ordered a corned beef and tomato sandwich and a pot of tea, while Mrs Hardy requested a cup of tea.

  Seated with their drinks, Ena asked Mrs Hardy how she could help her.

  ‘Nothing I can say will make what I’m about to tell you sound any better, so I’ll just say it as it happened, Mrs Green.’ Mrs Hardy took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been accused of stealing and the money, twenty-pounds, was in my coat pocket. I don’t know how it got there. I swear I don’t. I wouldn’t do such a thing. With my husband Arnold being away…’ She paused and cleared her throat. Ena nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m all the boys have got. If the hotel manager’s fancy piece goes to the Police as she threatened to do, and they charge me, I don’t know what will happen to my boys. As God is my witness, I didn’t steal that money,’ Doreen sniffed, bursting into tears.

  ‘It was good that you went to see Inspector Powell. The woman’s threatening behaviour is now on record.’

  Mrs Hardy’s eyes widened with fear. ‘So is her accusation that I’ve been stealing.’

  Ena passed the distraught woman her handkerchief. ‘Don’t worry about that. It’s best he heard what really happened from you, just in case this woman does go to the Police, which,’ Ena added, ‘I’m sure she won’t. The woman has an agenda of her own. She either took the money herself, or she wants you out of the way.’ When Doreen had calmed down, Ena pushed her cup of tea towards her. ‘Drink it while it’s hot, Mrs Hardy. Then I want you to tell me everything that happened, starting at the beginning.’

  Doreen Hardy wiped her face with Ena’s hankie and took a sip of the tea. ‘It started when the manager of the Duke of Wellington Hotel, who I clean for, got friendly with one of the customers. I say ‘friendly’, the woman all but threw herself at him.’

  ‘Is this the woman you called his fancy piece?’

  ‘Yes. Mr Walters, the manager, took her out a few times. It didn’t make any difference to me. Me and Mr Walters have always been on good terms, friendly terms you might say, and nothing changed. Except Dolly, that’s the woman’s name, didn’t like him being friendly with me. She didn’t even like him talking to me.’

  ‘There hadn’t been anything between you and your employer before he met Dolly, had there?’ Ena enquired.

  ‘No!’ Mrs Hardy sounded horrified that Ena could even think such a thing. ‘And, there isn’t now, even though he seems cooler with Dolly. I think he’s seen her for the flighty Miss she is. No,’ she emphasised, ‘Mr Walters is a gentleman. He’s always been kind to me, gives me nice bits of meat to take home at the end of my shift – if there’s any left after the lunches – and he sometimes sends a couple of bottles of lemonade or Vimto for the boys, but nothing like you’re suggesting, Mrs Green.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hardy, I wasn’t suggesting there was anything inappropriate going on between you and your boss.’ Ena had offended Mrs Hardy, which hadn’t been her intention. ‘I just wondered if he was perhaps a little too fond of you.’

  Mrs Hardy’s face changed from frowning to thoughtful. ‘Come to think of it he is very friendly. But he knows I’ve got Arnold…’

  Who is in prison, Ena thought, but didn’t say. ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘Well, Mr Walters told me the takings had been short on the days I’d worked.’

  ‘You don’t work every day then?’

  ‘No, I share the hours with my sister-in-law, Maisie. I do three days one week and she does four, then we swap and the following week I do four days and she does three. We clean before the bar opens in the morning so it’s ready for lunchtime, and again in the afternoon so it’s clean for opening at night.’

  ‘And Mr Walters said money only went missing on the days you were there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many people work at the hotel altogether?’

  ‘Mr Walters, of course, then there’s the barman.’ Mrs Hardy’s cheeks coloured. ‘He’s been off a couple of times lately and Mr Walters got me to stay on and work behind the bar at lunchtime. Washing glasses mostly, but he said he’d teach me how to serve drinks.’

  ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes. The pay would be better. I’m good with money,’ Mrs Hardy said, confidently. With a thief for a husband who spent more time in prison than he did out of it, she’d need to be, Ena reflected. ‘I can do sums in my head. The till’s easy, you add up the prices of the drinks, put the money the customer gives you on top of the till’s drawer, ring up the price and take the change out of the till before you put the customer’s money in it.’

  Ena was impressed by Mrs Hardy’s knowledge, as well as her confidence. ‘Who else works there?’

  ‘There must be staff on the hotel side but I’ve never met any of them. The hotel and the public bar are quite separate. So besides me and Maisie, Mr Walters and Fred, the barman, there’s only the kitchen staff. There’s Ida who does the cooking and Dolly who waits on the tables.’

  ‘Dolly? Mr Walter’s lady friend works in the kitchen?’

  ‘Yes. She said she needed a job and Mr Walters couldn’t really say no. She says she’s a barmaid, but I don’t think Mr Walters wants her working behind the bar because she likes a drink, if you know what I mean. Food is ordered at the bar and whoever takes the order tells the kitchen and when the food’s ready Dolly brings it out to the customer.’

  ‘And, she’s there every time you’re there?’

  ‘She’s there every day. Morning and night – opening hours.’

  ‘It’s only a thought, but it’s possible that Dolly the waitress is jealous of your friendship with the manager and wants you out of the way.’

  ‘Do you think Dolly took the money?’

  ‘She could have. She may not only be jealous of your friendship with the landlord, but if she knows he’s promised to teach you the barmaid’s role when she’s already told him that’s her profession, she probably feels he’s passing her over for you.’

  ‘Poor Dolly.’

  Ena raised her eyes, ‘I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her. If it was her who planted the money in your coat pocket, she had all but succeeded in getting you the sack, as well as threatened you with the Police. Dolly doesn’t deserve your pity, Mrs Hardy.’ Ena finished her tea. ‘How did you leave it with the manager?’

  ‘He said he didn’t believe I’d taken the money, but I wasn’t to go back to work until he’d found out who had. For the time being Maisie’s doing my shifts as well as her own and I’m looking after her children. I don’t mind, they’re good kids – and with Maisie being a widow, she needs the money.’ Doreen Hardy sighed. ‘I liked going out to work. I liked the company and I liked earning a bit of money. To be honest, Mrs Green, I need that money.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Hardy, I’ll find out who the culprit is and I’ll do my best to get you your job back.’ The café door opened, attracting Ena’s attention. ‘Artie?’ She raised her hand and beckoned him over to join them.

  ‘The furniture’s here.’ Artie put the office keys on the table. ‘I thought I’d come and get something to eat now it’s arrived.’

  ‘Good idea. Who was the telephone call from?’

  ‘An old friend of Margot’s. George Derby-Bloom, or Brown. She sounded upset. Anyway, I’ve written her name on your notepad. It’s on your desk.’

  ‘I know the name,’ Ena said, thoughtfully. ‘I think she worked with Margot at The Prince Albert Theatre in the war.’

  ‘She did. She said she was going to the Prince Albert to see Natalie Goldman this afternoon and she’d telephone you later today, or tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be in the office all day tomorrow. I’ll sort the furniture out then.’ Artie raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll call into the Prince Albert after I’ve been to the Duke of Wellington Hotel.’ Ena gave Mrs Hardy a reassuring smile. ‘Someone has accused
Mrs Hardy of stealing from her employer. She didn’t, of course, so I’m going to see him. Dudley Green Associates’ first investigation.’

  Ena smiled sweetly at Artie. ‘I was wondering… Well, hoping really, that you’d go back to the office and man the telephone while I go to the hotel? I know I’ve got a cheek to ask, but I’ll pay you. I’d go later but the bar will be open and the manager will probably be busy then. Ignore the furniture, I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Alright!’

  Artie flicked his head back and tutted. ‘I don’t suppose I’ve got anything better to do.’

  ‘You’re the best, Artie Mallory. I owe you.’ Ena turned to Mrs Hardy, ‘Could you come into the office on Friday morning?’ She took a card from her handbag and gave it to the maligned woman. ‘My telephone number, in case you need to speak to me before then.’ Ena got to her feet and picked up her handbag. ‘Mrs Hardy, if your sister-in-law tells you anything, or if you hear from either the manager or Dolly, would you telephone me?’ Mrs Hardy nodded.

  Ena took a couple of pound notes from her purse and laid them on the table. ‘That’s for my sandwich and pot of tea and Mrs Hardy’s tea. Do you have any money on you, Artie?’ He nodded. ‘Good. Get Mrs Hardy something to eat and have something yourself – and if it comes to any more than that, take the money out of petty-cash when you get back to the office.’ She didn’t wait for him to reply, but prepared to leave. ‘Oh,’ she said, turning back to Artie. ‘Don’t forget to put the receipt in the tin. It’s in the kitchen, in the cupboard under the sink. I’ll see you on Friday morning, Mrs Hardy, and Artie, thank you.’ She blew him a kiss. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Ena found the Duke of Wellington Hotel car park on Cornwall Road, just off The Cut. She jumped out of the car and knocked on a door marked Private. A woman answered, her hair, piled high on top of her head, was the colour of corn at the roots, her topknot was bleached much lighter. The neckline of her blouse was low and her skirt tight and far too short for a woman of her age. Ena suspected this was Dolly. She ignored the belligerent look, smiled and asked to speak to Mr Walters. Dolly, if it was Dolly, crossed her arms over her chest and told her in an off-hand manner that Mr Walters was unavailable, saying he was at the wholesalers and, as she didn’t expect him back until opening time, it would be best if Ena called back some other time.