Kat nodded.
“Not a sign of her. Which leaves the… smaller places. You know, Alfie, I’m from New York and—”
“New York?” He stared out of the window for a moment. “Now, that is one place I would love to go to. Tell me, is it really like you see in the moving pictures? So big… the buildings… all those people?”
Kat laughed. “Why, yes, it is.”
“I got to get myself there.”
“I’m sure you will, Alfie,” she said, smiling and taking a sip of her beer. “So, when I worked in New York. There were bars, nightclubs that – with prohibition – only the locals knew about. Speakeasies. Guess it’s the same here?”
“Places like that? Yeah – I can think of a few,” said Alfie, “not a million miles from here.”
“You could check them out for us?” said Kat.
Harry quickly added, “Can you give it a try, old friend?”
And the slow nod of Alfie’s head showed he was on board.
“I will. Tonight even. Nothing else in the diary!”
At that, Alfie produced a low laugh. “And I’ll tell you what.” Kat watched as Alfie took another long sip of his beer. “I’ll put the word out too. Quietly, mind you. You know how it is – Soho, West End. Everybody in these parts knows everybody.”
“Appreciate it,” Harry said.
“You work around here, Alfie?” said Kat.
“Here and there,” said Alfie.
The man coy, as a reflex.
“What kind of line of work are you in?” she said. “If I might ask?”
She saw Harry smiling at her as she attempted to engage, even press Alfie.
“Oh… Bit of this, bit of that,” he said, smiling.
Kat laughed.
“You know, Kat. I can never keep up with Alfie’s employment status,” said Harry, smiling. “But he always tells me it’s legitimate.”
“The straight and narrow path. Too right, Harry,” said Alfie, laughing, placing his hand on his heart, “on my mother’s life.”
Harry laughed as well, then nodded towards Alfie’s empty glass. “Get you another one?”
“Kind of you, Harry, but I’d best be off.” Then he leaned in, spoke quietly. “You know, these dancers… When things don’t pan out, they can end up in bad places, doing bad things.” A last slug of beer. “With bad people.”
Alfie let that hang in the air for a moment.
Kat’s voice was low. The smoky pub full.
“That’s what worries me, Alfie. But I know you’ll help.”
Another serious nod from Alfie.
“That I will Kat. That I will.”
At that, Alfie pushed back for the table and stood up.
A solid looking man indeed.
“My mates – they might act a bit cagey. Don’t want to get bad people riled, right? You never know.”
“That is true, Alfie, you never do,” Harry said.
“But they trust me.”
Alfie grabbed his hat from a nearby peg and pulled it low, shading his eyes.
“Meet up tomorrow? At the flat?” Harry said.
Alfie nodded.
“Have a good evening,” he said, tipping his hat. And with that, he slipped away, disappearing into the crowd as if he’d never existed.
“He’s right, you know!” Harry said. “We do have the evening before us. Dinner and drinks, I think, don’t you?”
“Definitely. Until we get a lead there’s not much we can do.”
And Harry was up.
“Let me locate the landlord’s phone, see if I can book us a table. You, meanwhile,” Harry said as he started to move away in search of a telephone, “enjoy the scenery.”
As Harry vanished, Kat sat alone at the table with her beer, quite anonymous in the busy crowd.
And very much enjoying the scene. All of it so very English!
7. A Night on the Town
Harry helped Kat out of the cab and paid off the driver with a good tip.
“Thank you kindly, sir,” said the driver as he pulled away, leaving the street in near silence.
Kat put one hand on his shoulder and he watched as she slipped off her shoes, her black silk dress shimmering in the soft street lamps.
“Heels!” she said, holding them aloft. “I hate heels! I mean, how can women wear them all day long? It’s torture!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, watching her spin around, barefoot on the pavement.
Then she put her arm through his as they took the steps together to the main doors of the mansion block.
“Home sweet home,” he said, his hat now tucked under his other arm.
“And that lovely bed,” said Kat. “I cannot wait. I ate too much. I drank too much. Oh! And – do I remember right – we danced too?”
“Just a little,” said Harry, slipping off his dress gloves, and fumbling for his door key.
“With you?” said Kat, nestling into him.
“With me. And with Max.”
“Yes. The lovely Max,” said Kat. “Surprisingly light on his feet for such a rotund little man. I like him. You must tell me everything about him tomorrow.”
“I will,” said Harry, smiling. “Old Max – a man of many talents. And I took careful note of his every word.”
Kat grinned at that.
And Harry thought how he loved Kat like this.
Carefree, fun. Just about perfect.
One minute talking her head off, and then – guaranteed – a second after her head hit the pillow she’d be fast asleep.
He opened the door and flicked the light on as Kat went ahead of him and pressed the button to summon the lift. The entire block of flats so quiet – no surprise, he thought, it must be nearly one o’clock.
Dinner in the Berkeley Grill had been a cosy affair, but then in the bar they’d bumped into a crowd of old pals from his London days.
Everyone had insisted on showing Kat their favourite Mayfair watering holes.
Obviously smitten, he thought, with his American bride.
Ending with many champagne flutes at the Ritz courtesy of Max Schultz, Harry’s dear friend from an early posting in Berlin back in ’20.
Max, it seemed, had given up the diplomatic life to become something of an impresario, opening a string of clubs and theatres across Germany.
And now, here he was in London having the same success. Many champagnes in, he’d insisted he would help Lizzie Spence if they could find her.
“Can’t make this silly thing work,” said Kat, now leaning against the lift door, prodding the button. “How about we just walk up?”
He turned to shut the front doors, but, as he did, some instinct made him look across the street…
… to see a figure quickly step back from the street light into the shadows.
A man, in a dark trench coat, hat pulled low.
Gone in a flash.
Harry stepped out again onto the pavement and peered down the street. The man had simply disappeared.
But there was no question. Whoever it was, he’d been watching Harry. And Kat.
“What is it?” said Kat, joining him. And he could see she was alert now, not at all tipsy.
Like a real pro, he thought.
“Harry – something wrong?”
“Not sure. Not to worry you, but…” he looked at her, “I think – somebody’s watching us.”
“Really? Well, you know what? That’s a good thing.”
“It is?” said Harry.
“Someone watching, at this hour. Outside our flat? Means whatever we’re doing, we’re doing something right.”
“You are too clever,” he said, nodding. “I agree.”
“Come on then, soldier,” said Kat, taking his arm again. “Best we get some sleep. Another full day tomorrow. What’s the line from your beloved character? Appears that the game is afoot.”
“Does, doesn’t it?”
And he shut the door, its heavy locks reassuring, and walked with her up t
he stairs to the first floor and their apartment.
*
Kat knew she was dreaming.
One of those moments when you realise this is a dream, and yet it rolls on.
She was back in New York at the Lucky Shamrock, but dressed as a can-can dancer, like it was one of those Western movies. Harry was a gunslinger at a table, playing cards with her new pal Max Schultz. Looking like a gambler – pearl-handled revolver in a holster.
Oh, and her dad, grinning, playing the piano.
Alive.
Which is odd, she thought, half-waking, because Dad doesn’t play the piano.
She turned over in bed, put her hand across the pillow towards Harry, but then – no dream this! – he wasn’t there.
Now she woke.
She could see light under the bedroom door.
She sat up, listened.
From the other room – voices.
Harry’s voice, and another man, speaking low. Trying not to wake her.
She flicked the bedside light on, got up, pulled her silk dressing gown around her, opened the door, and went down the short corridor into the sitting room.
Harry turned quickly as soon as she entered.
“Kat,” he said, “didn’t want to wake you. You were out for the count.”
He was sitting, in his dressing gown, with Alfie at the table.
“Sorry to turn up so late,” said Alfie.
“Not a problem,” said Kat, walking over to Harry and resting her hand on his shoulder. “You got something for us, Alfie?”
She saw Alfie nod. “Think so. Was just telling Harry here.”
“Seems our Lizzie may have been spotted in a nightclub in Soho,” said Harry.
“Can’t guarantee,” said Alfie. “I mean, without seeing her myself next to that photo. But, by all accounts, it’s her all right.”
“Nightclub?” said Kat, fearing the worst.
She saw Harry and Alfie exchange a look – both knowing what she meant.
“Place called the Red Rabbit,” said Alfie. “New one on me, but word is it’s got a reputation.”
“Red Rabbit?” said Harry. “Think I can guess what kind of reputation – and it’s not veterinary care.”
“And Alfie – when was she seen?” said Kat.
“Tonight.”
Kat looked over at the clock above the fireplace: two o’clock.
“A place like that – still open, you think?” she said.
“That’s why I came over, straight away,” said Alfie. “Reckon there’s a good hour until it closes.”
Kat turned to Harry. “So – what are we waiting for?”
She saw Alfie’s expression – a confused look to Harry – then back at Kat. “We?” he said.
Kat laughed. “Think I’m going to let you two have all the fun? Come on, Harry – let’s get dressed and go.”
She saw Harry turn and smile at Alfie.
“What did I tell you?” he said.
Kat raised her eyebrows to Alfie, “Yes, Alfie – what exactly did he tell you?”
“Um… he said the moment you knew about the club he wouldn’t be able to hold you back.”
“He wouldn’t even try,” said Kat, smiling at Harry, then she headed back to the bedroom to get dressed.
At last, she thought, a real lead.
The fog created by the champagne suddenly, excitingly, vanished.
*
Kat squeezed in next to Harry on the front seat of Alfie’s old Austin truck, and, with a crunch of gears, they headed off down Bedford Avenue, the streets now totally empty.
The night was cool and she was glad of the slacks she’d packed. When they were on a case, she and Harry each threw an extra bag in the car: not quite disguises, but old clothes, jackets, boots, caps.
And tonight they were coming in handy. She looked across at Harry – in a tattered suit and cardigan, mismatched trousers and scuffed shoes; he looked like an impoverished clerk, someone totally down on their luck.
He was sporting an old pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, and his Brylcremed, parted hair completed the look.
Alfie didn’t need to change, his clothes magically seemed to suit every occasion.
She looked out of the truck window at the London streets as they crossed Oxford Street and drove deep into Soho. Every place was now long shut, though the big hotels were still brightly lit as they passed.
A few pedestrians remained, and taxis whisked the tipsy wealthy home after their late nights out. She could see the occasional cop – or “bobby” as Harry called them – on his beat, standing in shadows, or on street corners.
Now the streets narrowed, past tiny stores, boarded up cafés, workshops, little apartments, she guessed.
Nothing like this in Manhattan, she thought.
“Here we are. Lexington Street,” said Alfie, as he took a turn. The truck’s wheels clattered on the cobbled stones, and Kat peered out. This little backstreet had no street lamps.
Just the faint light from a moon above, under scudding clouds.
“So. All know what we’re doing?” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Kat and Alfie together.
“Good, good.”
They’d made a quick plan back in the flat. Kat on lookout duty in the truck. Alfie and Harry would do the recce.
Alfie slowed, then pulled in onto one side of the street, up on the pavement.
He turned the engine off. They waited for a minute in silence, but it seemed nobody had taken notice of their arrival.
“Okay. Club’s down there on the left,” said Alfie. “Basement entrance. Two doors: one’s a kind of stage door, I guess – the other’s the way in.”
“I don’t see a sign,” said Kat.
“Ha! Place isn’t legal,” said Alfie. “So no flashing neon Red Rabbit! A double knock on the door gets us in.”
“We ready?” said Harry. “Kat – you okay here?”
Kat nodded as she watched them both climb out. Then she slid across into the driver’s seat – with the fervent hope she wouldn’t have to actually drive this creaky, lumbering truck.
“This time of night, I don’t think anyone will take any note of you out here,” said Harry quietly, leaning in to the open driver’s window. “But Kat. Listen. Anything happens, just hit the gas and go, right? If you’re not here when we get out – rendezvous back at the flat.”
“Gotcha,” said Kat, feeling a bit frustrated that she wasn’t coming into the club. But still, loving being on watch out here – the night alive with the tension of being back on a live case.
Time was, back in her days working for the US government, she’d worked surveillance herself, in some tight spots.
None of it in the government’s job description, but exactly what she had been trained to do.
She knew Harry was only slowly beginning to realise the full extent of her résumé from that time.
One not so different from his own.
“Don’t have too much fun,” she said, reaching out to adjust his spectacles.
“Spoilsport,” said Harry, kissing the tip of his finger and putting it gently to her lips. He gave her a wink, then turned, put a friendly arm around Alfie’s shoulder, and the two of them sauntered off down the street.
To a casual observer, just a couple of tipsy old mates looking for a little extra fun to round off a wild night on the town.
Kat leaned back into her seat and slid down, until she knew her face was lost in shadow.
Her whole body alert to the sight and sound of this hundred-yard stretch of London street.
8. The Red Rabbit Club
Harry gave a nod to Alfie, then slipped ahead of him down unlit narrow steps that led from the street to the front door of the Red Rabbit Club.
He could see nothing on the heavy metal door that indicated what might lie on the inside.
Just a small panel, the size of a book, in the centre of the door.
He knocked firmly on the door – two sharp knocks. After a f
ew seconds, the panel slid open and a pair of eyes appeared. Harry saw the eyes flick from him to Alfie and up the steps to the street.
Then the panel slammed shut and, a second later, the door popped open to reveal a short, squat man with a hewn and weary face, and hands the size of dinner plates.
Harry watched as the man shuffled to one side – been a long night, Harry guessed – and nodded them in, his eyes tiny black beads in his broad head.
Harry followed as Alfie went past him, into a small dark ante-room, draped with heavy dark-red curtains on all the walls. He heard the door shut behind them.
Another man, tall in a faded dress suit and silver spats, stepped forward, his words more of a bark than the King’s English.
“Table charge. Ten bob each. Pay now. Gets you one drink each. Bar’s open until three. One more show to come, but no talking to the girls. The two of yers got that?”
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of notes, purposely flashed, taking his time; the bills culled earlier from his wallet and wrapped carefully around a core of old newspaper.
But in the shadows it looked like quite a roll, he knew.
“There’s ten shillings,” he said. Then he peeled off another note. “Oh – and an extra ten for a good table?”
“Oh – certainly, sir!” said the man, his demeanour shifting instantly at the sight of the roll of banknotes. “Pleasure to have yous here tonight.”
Good, thought Harry. Taking me for a sucker, as Kat would call it.
All set to be fleeced.
He slipped the roll of “cash” back in his pocket.
“This way, sir, please,” said the man, pulling aside one of the heavy drapes and opening a door that lay behind it.
Harry thought the club would be deserted. He wasn’t expecting the blast of noise, pounding jazz music, swirling cigarette smoke and red lights which hit him as he stepped through into the club. The place was packed!
He looked round at Alfie, behind him, who likewise seemed astonished. The two of them over the years – going back even to wartime France – had been in some interesting late-night bars and dives, but Harry had to admit, this was something.
Maybe twenty tables spread in an arc around a small stage, in front of which a four-piece jazz band was playing loudly. The crowd – mostly men, but with a handful of women – were crammed around the tables, drinking, laughing, the loud blaring music ignored.
Mydworth Mysteries--London Calling! Page 5
