Dead of Winter

At the sound of the name, Molly burst into a fresh bout of tears.

‘There — see what you’ve done.’

Dorrie patted the hand lying on the table beside hers. The other two girls who Lily didn’t know — they must have been new since her time at Paddington — looked uneasy. Their fresh cups of tea stood untouched before them. Ignoring the fuss she’d started, Lily pressed on.

‘Have you talked to the law yet?’ she asked Molly. ‘Have you been interviewed?’

‘How could she?’ Dorrie demanded before her friend had time to answer. She only got back from Streatham last evening. Went to see her old mum, she did. First thing she hears is someone’s topped her feller.’

The answer was as Lily had feared, and it gave her pause. She knew she ought to back off now and leave this to Paddington. Roy Cooper would want first bite of any witness and he wouldn’t take kindly to her interfering. But she was reluctant to abandon the idea that had prompted her to enter the cafe and she told herself one question wouldn’t do any harm.

‘All right, listen now.’ She tapped her teaspoon on the table to get Molly’s attention. ‘This won’t take a second. Was Horace dealing in dodgy cards and ration books still? You can tell me. He’s dead now, so it won’t make no difference.’

Molly delayed her answer while she wiped her eyes; then she shook her head. ‘He’d stopped all that. He told me so himself. Said he’d learned his lesson.’ She choked back a sob. ‘We was going to get married …’

Disappointed by the reply she’d got — she was hoping Quill had been up to his old tricks again — Lily rolled her eyes in disbelief.

‘It was true.’ Molly roused herself. She glared at Lily. ‘Just cause you ain t got no one …

‘Mind your lip.’ Lily scowled. ‘And you too, Dorrie Stubbs,’ she added, catching the big tart’s eye and seeing she was about to add a comment of her own.

‘He’d been getting some money together,’ Molly continued doggedly. He said we was going to get hitched. He’d been working on a job. Proper work, too.’

‘What do you mean — proper work?’

‘Being a private detective and all.’

‘Oh, that …’ Lily swallowed her disappointment. ‘Look, I’m sorry for your loss.’

Feeling she might have been a little hard on the poor cow,Lily patted her arm and rose to leave. Her idea had turned out to be a dud and she was wishing now she had left Molly Minter to the Paddington CID. Word of this chat she’d had with one of their witnesses was bound to get back to them, and there’d likely be ructions.

‘He’d got a client who was paying good money, too.’ Molly wasn’t finished yet. ‘Wads of it, Horace said.’

Wanting to be off, Lily hesitated; her curiosity was piqued.

‘What sort of job?’ she asked. ‘Divorce case?’

‘Nah — missing persons.’ Molly sniffed.

Well, that was no surprise, Lily thought, as she buttoned her coat and picked up her bowl of dripping. For all sorts of reasons the war had led to people disappearing from their usual haunts. (Some had done it on purpose; flown the coop.) The police didn’t have time to look for them, not unless foul play was suspected. From what she’d heard, private detectives were making a mint tracking them down.

‘Who was he looking for, then?’

The question came from Dorrie. Lily had already turned away and was heading for the door. But when she heard Molly’s reply she stopped dead in her tracks and did a quick about-turn.

‘What now …?’ Dorrie began in a petulant tone, but Lily cut her off with a fierce gesture.

‘What was that you said?’ she demanded, fixing her gaze on Molly’s upturned face, peering into her wide, tear-stained eyes. ‘Who did he say he was looking for?’

Delayed by a breakdown in the Underground — he had sat fuming for half an hour stuck between St James’s Park and Westminster — Sinclair was late for his morning conference with the assistant commissioner. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time he limped down the corridor to Miss Ellis’s office with the crime report, and it was plain from the agitated look on Bennett’s secretary’s face when he opened the door that his absence had not gone unnoticed.

‘Oh, there you are, Chief Inspector.’

Middle-aged and fluttery, Millicent Ellis had been a fixture at the Yard for almost as long as Sinclair himself. A small woman with mouse-coloured hair cut to fit her head like a cap and wire-rimmed glasses, she had served as Bennett’s secretary for the past dozen years and was devoted to his well-being.

‘Sir Wilfred’s hoping to get away this morning.’ Her tone was accusing. ‘He wants to drive down to the country this afternoon with his family.’

Quelling an impulse to remark that it was all right for some — and a temptation to wonder aloud where the assistant commissioner had obtained the petrol for such an expedition — Sinclair had instead gained swift admission to the inner sanctum where, just as Miss Ellis had hinted, he found Bennett impatiently awaiting his arrival.

‘I won’t take up too much of your time, sir, but there are one or two items you might care to glance at. A V-2 came down in Stepney last night and the firemen had hardly left when the looters started picking through the rubble. Luckily our fellows were waiting for them. They nabbed half a dozen. They’ll be up in court this morning.’

‘Excellent.’ Bennett rubbed his hands.

‘And there was a murder over in Paddington. It happened the night before but wasn’t reported till yesterday. A private detective called Quill was the victim. I gather he was an unsavoury character. There’ll be more on that later.’

While he was speaking, the chief inspector had passed the typed sheets he was carrying across the desk and his superior scanned them in silence for a few moments.

‘And what are your plans for Christmas, Angus?’ Bennett looked up over the top of his spectacles.

‘I was hoping to join the Maddens down in Highfield for a couple of days. They’ve very kindly invited me. But I don’t like to leave London with this Ash business still hanging. I want to be on call.’

With a grunt, the assistant commissioner passed the report back to him.

‘So there’s been no more progress on that front?’

‘None as we speak. That photograph of him we published has drawn no response as yet and we’ve pretty well checked all hotels and boarding houses in the capital. There’s no trace of a Raymond Ash here, so I’ve ordered the hunt to be extended nationwide. Of course the fact that it’s Christmas doesn’t help. We’re already short-staffed and our men need some time off. But I don’t dare let up. He won’t.’

The chief inspector sat brooding.

‘This is probably the last major case I’ll ever handle, and I’d hate it to end in failure. But every day that passes means he’s slipping a little further from our grasp.’

Bennett coughed.

‘Well, now, I wouldn’t …’ he began, then stopped as the noise of argument sounded from the outer office. Miss Ellis’s voice could be heard raised in indignation.

‘Now just one moment…’

Before either man could react, the door was flung open and Lily Poole stumbled in.

‘Good God!’ Sinclair stared at her, speechless.

‘What on earth-?’

Out of uniform, wearing a coat of singular design, and with a woollen cap tugged down over her ears, the young policewoman was barely recognizable.

‘Sir …’ Lily gasped out the word as she came to a halt and from habit stood to attention. ‘Sir …’

It was the only word she managed to utter. Hard on her heels, Miss Ellis appeared brandishing an object wrapped in greaseproof paper in both hands, red in the face and furious.

‘Sir, I don’t know who this young woman is or how she got up here but she forced her way in … sir, I’m sorry …’

‘Calm down, Miss Ellis, calm down …’

Seeing his secretary’s distress, Bennett rose from behind his desk, patting the air with his hands to soothe her.