Murders in the Blitz (4 page)
‘I’m sorry, Mr Drummond,’ said Eve, ‘but we think Zoya may have met with an accident. We’re helping the police.’
‘What do you mean – an accident? Has she been run over or something?’ The man continued to move the trays around. His voice showed limited curiosity.
‘No, I’m afraid she may have been murdered,’ said Eve.
Mr Drummond stopped what he was doing and regarded Eve, shocked. ‘Murdered? Zoya? Who on earth would want to murder a nice girl like that?’
That’s just what I’ve been wondering, thought Eve. If she was such a lovely person why would anyone want to murder her?
‘We’re sorry to bring bad news, Mr Drummond, but it seems likely that the body was Zoya’s. We’ll get one of her compatriots from the PRC to identify her and let you know.’
‘I suppose I’d better start looking for someone else for the shop,’ said the baker, ‘Hell, I could really do without this.’ He gathered the remaining trays and disappeared into the back as Charlie and Eve left. Mr Drummond had obviously lost interest in the matter - and in the girl who had worked for him.
Charlie had some errand to run, so Eve went to the Police Station alone. She had to wait for Inspector Reed and when she was summoned to his office there were several other officers there engaged in frenzied conversation. They stopped talking and stared at Eve as she entered.
Eve ignored everyone except the Inspector and reported that Zoya had not turned up to work that morning, but he did not seem very interested. Something else was one his mind, evidently something of importance.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Duncan, there’s a panic on. A fire at the Waring and Gillow works; possibly an explosion. It may be sabotage. The fire brigade is trying to sort it out. We’re sending all available men down for security as it may still be dangerous. Then there’s an investigation to be started.
‘There’s no chance of the post mortem on your girl happening today. There were some fatalities and they take priority over your little murder, I’m afraid. I expect the pathologist will get around to it tomorrow.’
So, it had become her ‘little murder’ thought Eve. Did that mean she was in charge?
‘Oh. All right, sir. I suppose we’ll have to leave it. Is there anything else today?’
‘No, thank you, that’s all for now. Pop in tomorrow and we’ll see.’
Eve was dismissed and the Inspector turned back to the officers. They continued talking as she left. It all seemed very casual. ‘Pop in tomorrow’ he’d said, like an invitation to tea; no time mentioned. No-one was paying much attention to the fate of the murdered girl and Eve knew there was little she could do now, so she turned for home.
On her way out Pete greeted her and Eve told him what had happened. They were interrupted by a member of the public reporting the loss of her dog.
‘See you Wednesday evening then, Pete. Bit of a dance at the Palais.’ She wiggled her hips suggestively behind the dog-deprived citizen and left the building through the tunnel of sandbags stacked around the doorway to protect the station from blast..
Eve paused on the pavement. The clock on the church tower showed 4.30. What was she going to do? Charlie was on one of his mysterious errands, Pete was working, she didn’t feel like visiting any of her friends or going to the pictures. It had been a while; she would get on the Tube and visit Mum and Dad in Wembley. Pity there hadn’t been so much as an Eccles cake left in the bakery; Mum hated her turning up empty handed. Still, thought Eve, she should count herself lucky that I’m turning up at all. She turned towards home. Better smarten up or Mum would never let her hear the end of it.
Eve put a shilling into the gas meter and started a bath. The tub took nearly twenty minutes to fill since the gas geyser over the kitchen sink heated the water as it flowed through, drop by precious drop. A bath was a weekly treat as she was normally too pushed for time to wait for the bath to fill and a wash at the sink was all she could manage.
The bathroom’s chill drove her to plunge into the steaming water; what luxury. The cold tiles spangled with condensation and, until warmth seeped into her body, she shivered.
The water had cooled and her fingers became wrinkled and pallid before she emerged and wrapped herself in big towels. She rubbed dry and stood before the tall cheval mirror in her bedroom regarding her naked body critically. Even after the summer, admittedly not a sunny one, her skin was white as milk with a smattering of freckles on her arms.
‘You’re so pale,’ Pete had said, regarding her critically. ‘You should get a tan – you’d look healthier.’
‘I just burn in the sun, Pete. It’s the red hair, always goes with pale skin. Though I know an auburn girl who tans beautifully,’ she added regretfully.
Now she shuddered. Her paleness reminded of her of the cold corpse found in the alley and the blue, dead tinge of the skin. Eve dressed fast, anxious to leave. She needed company; being alone was making her morbid.
Soon Eve was on the train to Stonebridge Park. The station couldn’t have been closer to the house. The line ran at the end of the back garden, and you could hear the sound of carriage doors slamming as passengers disembarked. A footbridge over the line led into the street.
She pushed open the gate of the semi-detached house and walked up the crazy-paved path. The bell hadn’t worked for years, so she knocked on the door’s stained glass panel. She heard her mother’s voice from inside.
‘Go and see who that is, Jack. If it’s one of them spivs, send them away with a flea in their ear.’
Her father grumbled mildly as he wheezed to the door.
‘What a lovely surprise!’ Joy lit his face as he hugged her. ‘It’s Evie come to visit. Come in, love, it’s marvellous to see you.’
Dad pulled her into the dark hallway, painted sombre brown and floored with equally dark lino made to resemble marble. The hall was too narrow to walk side by side so Eve followed Dad into the back room overlooking the garden. The door to the front parlour was firmly closed and would not be opened until the next family celebration, except when Mum dusted.
A crumpled Daily Mirror lay on Dad’s armchair, a solid piece of furniture covered in green uncut moquette, a fabric that Eve abhorred for its scratchiness, but Mum had pronounced hardwearing and practical.
Mrs Duncan joined them in the sitting room, drying her hands on a tea towel.
‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’ she asked without any show of affection or pleasure. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘Hello, Mum,’ said Eve, not moving forward for an embrace, ‘I was let off early. I’ll explain in a minute. I’ve got some exciting news.’
‘Well, I haven’t got time to hear it now. I’m busy in the kitchen. Tell us over supper,’ she was already moving away. ‘I imagine you’ll be wanting some supper, will you?’ The words shot back as a passing reproof.
‘Don’t mind her,’ said Jack, ‘She’s been in a mood all day. I think she’s worried about this invasion everyone’s talking about. The paper’s full of it, as well as daft advice about what to do if we meet a Jerry in the street.’
‘I try not to read the papers,’ said Eve, ‘they just give everyone the wind up and there’s not a lot we can do to stop it, is there? I listen to the news on the wireless. Sorry, Dad, I’d better go and help Mum in the kitchen. After all, she wasn’t expecting me; I don’t want to pinch your rations if you haven’t got enough.’
‘Don’t be daft, girl, there’s always enough for my daughters. I don’t know what we’re having, but she’s a wonder with next to nothing.’ He sat down and picked up the paper, lighting a Craven A from the packet by the chair.
Eve crossed the hall into the kitchen and staggered at the stench that billowed out.
‘Good God, Mum. What on earth are you cooking? It smells revolting.’
‘Tripe and onions. Your dad likes it. Can’t say it’s my favourite, but it’s cheap and not on ration so I cook it now and then. It does stink though. Better open the back door, then it won’t be so bad.’
Eve did as she was told and breathed in the evening air, tainted by the scent of the backyard chickens, but better than the odour of tripe and onions cooking. Maybe she wouldn’t stay for supper after all.
‘Don’t worry, we’re not having that tonight,’ said Mum, as if reading her thoughts. ‘It takes an age to cook so I started it this afternoon. I’ve got some ham and salad for tonight; there’s plenty for you.’
Eve tried not to show her relief. ‘Thanks Mum. But are you sure there’s enough? ’
‘We’ll have some hot new potatoes with it. Your Dad’s got a good crop this year and they’ve lots of flavour. I’ll hard-boil some eggs; the hens are laying well this month.’
The back garden had been given over to the growing of vegetables since war broke out and rations were boosted with the addition of the laying hens. Almost every household in the suburbs used their garden in this way and it staved off hardship.
Eve scrubbed some new potatoes and helped prepare the salad while they boiled. Jack joined them at the table. Eve discovered that she was famished. It had been six hours since the potato soup at the PRC.
They discussed Eve’s sisters, Grace and Hope, and Eve answered questions about Pete, without divulging much. Eve knew her parents would be horrified at the precise nature of her relationship with the young policeman.
‘We’re going to the Hammersmith Palais on Wednesday, Mum. We try to go about once a month.’
‘Your Dad and I used to go dancing. The Alhambra. Remember, Jack?’
‘Yes, my love, I remember it well. Your Charleston was legendry.’ He smiled fondly at the memory.
‘That must have been in the 20s,’ said Eve, ‘We were all born by then. Who looked after us while you were out gallivanting?’
‘My Mum lived with us then. She had the back bedroom, sharing with Grace.’
‘Blimey, the house must have been crowded.’
‘You’re a caution you are, Miss Evie, with your fancy ideas and wanting a bedroom each. Everyone lived crowded in them days. Never space to swing a cat.’
Mum opened a precious tin of pineapple chunks for pudding. Eve thought it was time she told them what she was doing.
Within seconds of Eve starting her tale Mrs Duncan was in turmoil. She clamped her hands to her mouth in horror, but her nature couldn’t prevent her from uttering the words that forced their way out.
‘For Gawd’s sake, Evie. Murder! How have you managed to get mixed up in a murder?’ she wailed. ‘That’s dangerous; anything could happen to you.’
Dad tried to comfort her, awkwardly patting her shoulder.
‘There, there, old dear, I’m sure the police will see she doesn’t come to harm.’
‘But there’s foreigners involved. Them Poles, and Czechs too, like as not. You know you can’t trust no bunch of foreigners, Jack.’
Jack persisted with futile patting whilst Mrs Duncan sobbed.
‘It’s all right, Mum, truly, we’re only helping, looking for witnesses. Charlie’s with me. We’re not even positive it is the girl from the PRC. Inspector Reed wouldn’t let me get into anything dangerous.’ Eve reassured them.
‘But you never know what might happen. There’s a murderer out there who may not take kindly to your meddling. And you just a slip of a girl too.’
‘It’ll be fine. I’m not that helpless, Mum. I’m in charge of twenty girls at Mount Pleasant and that’s no picnic I can tell you.’
‘But they’re not murderers, going around killing people. Whatever next? I don’t know what that Mr Gibbon was thinking, letting you off work. I thought this censoring malarkey was important,’ she said, warming to her theme. ‘It’s a disgrace, allowing you to help the police, as if they haven’t got people of their own.’
‘That’s the point, Mum. They haven’t got enough people of their own; they’ve all joined up. Inspector Reed especially wanted a woman.’
Mrs Duncan wiped her reddened face with the tea towel. ‘I still don’t think it’s good enough. But I know you’ll do what you want, like you always do. You won’t listen to me whatever I say.’
Eve looked at her father in amused despair. Every argument with her mother ended this way. How she hated no longer having control over her children.
‘I thought you’d like to know what I’m doing. I didn’t think you’d make a tragedy out of it. I’m fine and going to stay fine. Nothing will happen to me, Mum.’
Jack winked at Eve as her mother cleared the table noisily.
‘Go into the other room,’ she said, ‘I’ll bring tea in a minute. Turn the wireless on, Jack; there’ll be the news soon.’
Obediently they moved to the sitting room where Eve had to push Micky off her chair. The placid tabby budged reluctantly. He had become stout and indolent and was the reason that Eve had left Jake behind. The terrier’s enthusiastic and determined attentions caused the lazy feline great distress. Micky’s claim to fame was that when he was taken to the vet to be ‘done’, he had escaped and trekked home, over a mile. This achievement was met with such admiration that Micky was allowed to retain his manhood and he became the scourge of the neighbourhood. Many litters of sturdy kittens had benefitted from his parenthood.
After Mum brought in the tea, with chocolate biscuits - a rarity nowadays - they listened to the news. The imminent possibility of German invasion, at some unspecified point along the South Coast, was mentioned. The news ended with admonitions of what to do if the enemy was in your street: to hide your food and make sure that vehicles were out of commission, and any fuel safely hidden.
‘Goodness knows where we’re supposed to put all that stuff,’ said Jack.
‘Let’s hope they don’t come,’ said Eve. ‘We haven’t been invaded since William the Conqueror. We won’t make it easy for Hitler now.’
The news ended with another warning.
‘There is a high possibility that bombing of our cities will commence shortly. Make sure that your air-raid precautions are in place and that your family know where to shelter when the siren sounds.
‘Here ends the news. This has been Alvar Liddell reading it.’
There were no details of the weather, of damage or casualties caused by aerial fighting, or anything that might aid the enemy.
It was half past nine when they stopped listening. Eve knew her parents would be going to bed soon, as both were early risers.